


giving up the gun

by jasondean



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Ash Lynx Lives, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Hospitals, M/M, Past Child Abuse, ill be adding tags as they come up sorry hehe if you cant tell i am not very good at tags!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasondean/pseuds/jasondean
Summary: Ash Lynx once again greets death and lives to tell the tale. The war is over, but can Ash end the cycle?
Relationships: Ash Lynx & Okumura Eiji, Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, Blanca & Ash Lynx, Blanca & Lee Yut-Lung, Lee Yut-Lung & Ash Lynx, Lee Yut-Lung & Sing Soo-Ling, Max Lobo & Ash Lynx, Okumura Eiji & Okumura Eiji's Sister
Comments: 104
Kudos: 107





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a rewrite of the ending if you couldn't tell! because this prologue goes over the events we see in the last episode, i will be posting another chapter tomorrow. after, i will be updating this less frequently, about every week or as often as i get around to!
> 
> for future chapters, specific chapter warnings will be in the beginning notes, so be sure to read them :)

Today is the day the lynx dies.  
  
Lao lies in wait, hidden behind a grimy wall. He grips the knife in his hands so hard that he can’t feel it anymore. It’s an extension of himself, deadly and savage. The blade's sharp teeth are made to cut through skin and muscle and he’s positively itching to plunge all eight inches into his target.  
  
He takes a quick but watchful glance from his post. The sidewalk is busy, as to be expected for the city in daylight.  
  
Daylight. Lao hadn’t considered that. He will be killing a man in broad daylight for anyone to see. Though for the life of him he can’t picture any onlookers’ screams or gasps, no looks of horror, no shouts for help. All he can think about is him and Ash. All he can think about is watching the life drain out of his face as he pushes and twists the blade into his chest.  
  
Maybe that’s evil of him. Hell, he knows it is. But Lao is past stewing on his own morality. He has nothing to lose. Ash Lynx took everything from him. He took Shorter. His gang. His own fucking brother. Every time Lao gives thought to what Ash has done, what Ash has pried away from him like a taunting bully snatching away some kid’s lunch money, he sees red.  
  
Red gives way to a human form. Tall, thin, blond, glasses perched on his angular nose, nimble fingers handling a lined piece of paper speckled with ink. Lao’s heart nearly stops. The hand that holds the knife shakes uncontrollably as his prey draws near.  
  
Lao is not a murderer. He doesn’t enjoy killing, but who does? When it’s his life or his family’s or his boys’ at stake, he’ll do anything. This is why he pauses as he watches Ash stop in the middle of the sidewalk traffic, his green eyes widening as his world dwindles down to the letter in his hands. He shoves it into his coat and starts to run.  
  
Lao has never killed over a grudge. But then again, there has never been a person that incites the rage inside him that Ash does.  
  
His hesitation melts away and he steels himself. Even as Lao rushes towards him, Ash doesn’t seem to notice. The lynx’s instincts have grown dull.  
  
Lao does not register aiming the blade. He does not register when it’s his force that sinks the knife into Ash’s torso until he can feel the blood on his bare hand, slick and red. The satisfaction never comes.  
  
Nor does Lao register the bullet that enters his chest because in the seconds in between the explosion of the gun and the heavy thud of his body on the cement of the sidewalk, he has died. Blood pools at the wound, Lao’s dark jacket concealing the red until it begins to stain the concrete beneath him. The lynx clutches the knife and gives a pained gasp as he pulls it free, abandoning the bloodied weapon next to the very fool that brandished it.  
  
By the time someone comes across the body, it’s already cold.

* * *  
  


The most interesting thing that happens when working at a library is when guests don’t return books. It’s vaguely satisfying to see the overdue debt rack up, especially when that number starts to breach the thousands. There is someone out in the world with a copy of _The Snows of Kilimanjaro_ and a bounty of ten thousand dollars. Of course, the library has long since replaced the copy, but daydreams about the adventures of the paperback and its thief come so easily.  
  
Working for the New York Public Library isn’t the worst, but if Clara doesn’t find better work soon, she’ll have to flee tail between her legs back to her parents’ house in Texas. Her story isn’t anything she hasn’t seen before on the vast shelves of the library—a girl with a dream to shed her small town beginnings and make it big in the greatest city in the world. None of those books ever seem to mention the part where the dream is torn to shreds by concepts like “rent” and “cost of living.”  
  
It’s evening, just a few minutes until closing. Clara has been returning books back to their shelves and gently reminding patrons of their hours. Most of the people that stay so long are truly involved in their research. The others, which has become more common with the advance of autumn, are simply looking for a warm place to stay. Clara feels the worst about nudging them away.  
  
She continues her routine, idly thinking about dinner. She shares a studio apartment with her girlfriend in an admittedly sketchy area, but that brings the price down so she can’t really complain. Normally they switch off for making dinner, but her girlfriend offered to make something tonight as well since Clara has been busy with school and work. Clara’s an okay cook, but her girlfriend is something else entirely.  
  
She gives a quick sweep of her eyes over the reading room. There is one person, a young man slumped over a table. As she draws closer, she recognizes him. He comes around often, though Clara has never said more than a few words to him. He knows his way around the library so his questions typically come few and far between. She wonders if he has anyone waiting on him with a hot meal.  
  
He is the perfect image of serenity. A small smile plays on his lips. Strands of golden hair splay out on the table beneath him and over a letter he must have been reading. Clara clears her throat. “Sir—”  
  
And then she sees it. Red speckles the paper and the envelope and the dark polished wood of the table. “Sir, are you okay?” she asks, panicked, tapping his shoulder. Nothing. She pushes his shoulder. He simply slumps over, revealing an unmistakable dark stain on his midsection. She screams, a shrill sound that blankets the large room.  
  
Clara pulls out her cellphone. She can’t keep her eyes off of the man—though on closer inspection he seems more like a boy with his soft expression and stilled body. Is he breathing? Holy shit, she can’t tell.  
  
She calls 911 and explains the best she can what’s going on. She steps back when EMTs come barging in, not paying her any sort of attention as they focus on getting him out of the library and into the ambulance. Hopefully alive.  
  
What if he’s dead? The only dead bodies Clara has seen are the ones made pretty for open caskets. They always gave her the heebie jeebies, but this was somehow worse.  
  
She texts her girlfriend that she will be late for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i'm the only person in the world that watched banana fish after its initial airing (i literally just watched it in may!) and didn't stumble upon any spoilers about ash dying and you know what? the experience probs wouldve been better if i knew. ): oh whale. this is how i wanted bf to end and some ideas i was having while approaching the last episode. 
> 
> also! the name of this is from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bccKotFwzoY) :) i thought it was fitting because literally ash is giving up his gun but also the song to me is like, about saying goodbye to your glory days. idk i enjoy vampire weekend
> 
> 🥺👉👈 comments are appreciated if u have anything to say


	2. An Audience with the Devil

Of course the moment Sing dares to entertain the thought of his life going back to normal (or as normal as he knew it) the whole damn facade has to come crashing down.  
  
The news of Lao’s death was delivered to him yesterday. Nadia had called and told him to come over immediately. He found it strange that she’d demanded his presence with such gravity, so he didn’t bother with any quips. In fact, he hadn’t had time to bother with forming any sort of reply, because Nadia hung up as soon as she said her piece.   
  
So, he headed over to Chang Dai without a second thought. When he arrived, the restaurant was closed, and instead of Nadia, Charlie Dickinson was waiting for him.   
  
His first thought was that Nadia had ratted him out—but no, that made no sense, Nadia had never stuck her nose where it didn’t belong before, and she avoided anything having to do with gang warfare. She knew the repercussions of snitching; it was safer to keep quiet. Charlie motioned for Sing to sit down at the table with him, and he did, confused as all hell.   
  
“Lao is dead.” He can still hear the words in his mind. When Charlie first said them, it felt like a punch to the gut. Now it feels like anguish that threatens to bury him alive. If hearing the news was the initial blow, stewing on it was the soreness left behind.   
  
Sing is fourteen but he learned long ago not to act his age. Yet, he cried. He cried like a sniveling little baby while Charlie watched, awkwardly offering a pat on the shoulder that Sing couldn’t even shrug off. When that was done he started cursing and yelling and pushing around what furniture he could get to until Charlie stopped him. And then he cried some more as he watched him fix up the damage from the short lived Sing tornado. He cried like a little bitch.   
  
There will be no more crying. Chinatown needs a benefactor if it wants a fighting chance. Sing is still the boss, and he still has shit to do. First on the list is dealing with Yut-Lung.

* * *  
  


Getting into Yut-Lung’s ridiculously extensive estate is an easier task than Sing had expected it to be. He knows showing up unannounced is one of the youngest Lee’s pet peeves, and he’d be kidding himself if he were to say he didn’t barge in in order to prey on that annoyance. Surprisingly, Sing does not hate Yut-Lung. He’s beautiful and conniving. Dealing with him is like playing with venom. The danger is appealing, even with the annoying, prissy way the guy handles himself.  
  
In any case, Yut-Lung is and always will be a player in Sing’s world. He and his gang have always been at the mercy of the Lees, and through a twist of fate—no, Sing thinks, not fate, through deliberate scheming—that power has extended solely to Yut-Lung. He might not like it, but he has to keep the snake fed.   
  
Sing walks through the dark, twisted hallways of the Lee estate. Every shadow catches his eye, seems to jump out at him. He figures it’s only his exhaustion and keeps moving—though, he does find it odd no guards or servants have stopped him yet. In fact, the only personnel he encountered was at the entrance, who let Sing through without a fight. He is sure his familiarity here is supposed to be a sign of trust on Yut-Lung’s behalf, but it definitely creeps Sing out, being able to stroll freely. There has to be cameras watching his every move, but he isn’t here to do anything unsavory.   
  
He isn’t sure what he will do when he sees Yut-Lung. He’ll definitely give him an earful because he knows he can handle it. Test the limits, see how much he can get away with. But then, he’s... lost. Sing has no clue what sort of message he wants to send to Yut-Lung. He feels little loyalty to the boy yet something keeps him close. The friction between the two has always been so palpable.   
  
He nearly jumps out of his skin when his shoulder brushes against the wall. Sing blinks, rubbing his eyes with one hand. Shit, he _needs_ to keep his wits about him. Or else Yut-Lung will end up swallowing him whole.   
  
Sing turns a corner and comes upon a vase of black lilies sitting atop a small table. They droop slightly, as if they’ve been neglected recently. It’s uncanny combined with the otherwise pristine state of the place. Just past the lilies, Sing knows, is Yut-Lung’s quarters. He comes forward, glancing sideways at the flowers once again. So badly he wants to slam it off the table, make his hands bloody with the shattered glass, then stomp on those lilies. The impulse burns in him, a low flame in the pit of his stomach, but he resists, clenching and unclenching his fists before he snaps his attention back in front of him.   
  
But then, Sing stops. He can hear voices beyond the door to Yut-Lung’s room. One belongs to the devil himself, somehow simultaneously commanding and demure. The other he can’t quite place, but something about the tone and cadence feels familiar. When he draws closer, he can see the door is cracked open. Just a touch, enough for Sing to peer inside.   
  
Yut-Lung is sitting on the edge of his bed, still dressed in silk pajamas despite the time, as Sing last checked it, being around 2 PM. His long black hair is down, and he absent-mindedly twirls a strand around his index finger. His eyes, however, are focused, and his lips are pressed together in a thin line. Sing can tell he’s thinking, but other than that, nada—emotion is very much absent from his face.   
  
The other man stands in front of Yut-Lung. Even with his back to Sing, he can tell who it is—his brain only needs a moment to match the voice he’d heard to its owner. Blanca, the complete enigma of a man, is in Yut-Lung’s bedroom. But _why_ ?   
  
“It really is regrettable,” Yut-Lung finally says. “About Lao, I mean. I must make it clear that I never ordered him to kill Ash.” Sing’s heart drops at his brother’s name. Although what he’s just heard tells the opposite story, it has dawned on him that Yut-Lung has played some hand in Lao’s fate. He had no idea they had been in direct communication. How does he deal with this sense of betrayal when the party that has betrayed him is gone for good?   
  
And… Ash… _Fuck_ . The realization hits Sing like a truck. Suddenly, Charlie’s involvement makes a lot more sense. He had been trying to get information on Ash, the adversary in Lao’s last fight. Sing vaguely remembers Charlie questioning him about a bloody knife found at the scene and about Lao’s motivations but he never thought anything of the questions.   
  
Charlie. The police officer always sticking his nose in Ash’s business. Of _course_ .   
  
But Ash… Ash is untouchable, isn’t he? Sing knows logically this can’t be true, yet he still believes it even now. How did Lao get a scratch on him? Where is he now? Hiding from Sing? As if he could ever be a true threat. The thought hurts. He wishes he could stand his own against Ash, he really does, but it’s just not possible. His grief flares up in him, the revelation fanning the flame. There’s nothing to be done if Lao was the instigator, which surely he was, and yet a part of Sing wants to fight Ash, and that part burns hot like the sun.   
  
“I was never accusing you of anything,” Blanca says, grounding Sing again. His voice does not take on the careful tone that is usually crafted by adults dealing with Yut-Lung; though it is steady and nonthreatening, it is level with the boy, as if Blanca isn’t at all afraid of setting him off.   
  
“I know, but I thought it best to clear that up in case you were harboring any doubts,” Yut-Lung says.   
  
“Perceptive,” Blanca comments. “But it’s no matter to me what you have or haven’t done.”   
  
“Oh, really? You really have no qualms about your favorite pupil dying in some hospital room?” The way Yut-Lung twists Blanca’s words comes with a bite, some sort of bitterness harbored within them that confuses Sing deeply. It’s as if he isn’t talking about Ash at all.   
  
“Maybe I should come back another time.” Blanca relents, but it is Yut-Lung who becomes frustrated, indignation flashing across his face.   
  
“No. Stay,” he snaps, then lets out a sigh. He adds, “I know there is no contract between us, but…”   
  
“But nothing. I am humbly asking you to keep your hands off of Ash. I am not here to entertain you with anything more.”   
  
Yut-Lung sighs once more and falls back onto his bed, hair splayed beneath him as he stares at the canopy above him. “You should leave now, Blanca.” The other man turns around. Sing scrambles away from the door when his eyes somehow immediately land on him. Impossible, he thinks, he can’t see a thing, not behind this door. Not through the sliver of a crack, surely not. “I’ll think about what you said.”   
  
With that, Blanca exits the room. Sing flushes as the man notices him standing directly next to the door with his back pressed against the wall, looking as guilty as a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He only offers him a smile and walks away.   
  
Sing lets out a sigh of relief when Blanca has finally disappeared. Something about the guy gives him the creeps, in a very different way than Yut-Lung. Right, Yut-Lung. Sing considers abandoning ship and getting the hell out of there but then the little shit’s voice comes calling out.   
  
“Sing, come in.” He curses under his breath and pushes open the door. Yut-Lung hasn’t moved, still spread out against his comforters. Immediately Sing takes a look around, suspicion clear in his gaze. “Oh, calm down,” Yut-Lung purrs, sitting up. “It’s just the two of us. And a whole bunch of bodyguards, but out of sight, out of mind, right?”   
  
Sing begrudgingly draws closer when Yut-Lung beckons him. “It was very polite of you to not interrupt my conversation with Blanca. Hey, don’t look so shocked. I’m not psychic. Nor are you very subtle.” A smirk crawls upon his lips as Sing glares at him.   
  
“What did you do to Lao?” Sing snaps.   
  
Yut-Lung feigns surprise and shakes his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all. His death was his own misstep. I may have led him astray, just a bit, but, well, brotherly love is a powerful thing.” The ambiguity of his words irritates Sing but the actual contents throws him off. What exactly had Yut-Lung told Lao? Threatened him with? “Not like I would know,” Yut-Lung continues, “but it’s what I’m told. Maybe you’ll rest easier knowing he loved you so.”   
  
“Shut the fuck up,” Sing hisses, but tears prick at the corners of his vision. He blinks them away. Yut-Lung smiles at the sight.   
  
“I’m trying to be nice, Sing.”   
  
“You’re shit at it,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Look, what is this about Ash in the hospital? He shot Lao, didn’t he?”   
  
“Yes and yes,” Yut-Lung replies. “Blanca was kind enough to tell me just how bad our Lao got him.” Hearing the phrase “our Lao” makes Sing want to spit all over this insufferable brat and his stupid pajamas. “Ash’s out of the woods for now, apparently. I’ll spare you all the gory details.”   
  
Sing shakes his head in disbelief. Ash, in the hospital…? “He’s vulnerable,” Sing states. It feels unreal.   
  
“He is. Anyway, this isn’t what you wanted to talk about, was it? You came for another reason.”   
  
“Yeah, I…” Sing trails off. Whatever sort of anger he wanted to unleash towards Yut-Lung feels childish and outdated when faced with reality. Lao is dead. Ash is hurt. Blanca is still in New York. “Chinatown is in shambles,” he finally says. Just like everything else, he adds silently.   
  
“And you want my help.” Sing nods. “You believe I have a duty to Chinatown.” Sing nods again. “Maybe I do,” Yut-Lung considers airily.   
  
“Of course you do. Get off your ass and _do something_ .”   
  
Yut-Lung actually laughs at that. “Let’s get to that later, Sing. Right now I’m a little preoccupied, as you know.”   
  
“What? What do you want from me?” Sing demands. He stares down at Yut-Lung, who refuses to wilt under the intensity of his glare. In fact, he seems to grow taller in it.   
  
“I want Ash Lynx.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this is all i had pre-written, now this fic will update every week bc i am not writing a chapter a day or anything like that :3c next chapter we will finally get to ash do not worry


	3. Lion in a Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ash's past is mentioned, but nothing graphic.

When Ash wakes up, he isn’t alone. He has barely any time to adjust to the fluorescents blinding him or the feeling of scratchy cotton against his skin before he hears a voice.   
  
“Look who’s awake.”   
  
Ash’s whole body feels heavy. He can’t help but notice how slow he is to pin down the presence of another person in the room. People, he corrects himself. Two people in the room and he was  _ that _ slow on the uptake. He tries to sit up but immediately his body resists, a burning pain coming alive on his right side that makes him unwittingly groan.   
  
“Whoa, whoa, hold on.” He hears shuffling as Max gets out of his chair to help him. The older man attempts to stack pillows in a way that will support his weight and then he leads Ash into an upward position. Embarrassment burns in the pit of his stomach as he takes a look at Max’s face, full of care and worry. “How about this?” Max says, building some pillows around him so Ash can use them as arm rests.    
  
“I’m fine!” Ash snaps. There is something so particularly humiliating about needing help to do something as simple as sit upright, and it’s even worse with Max, who’s always stepping in to fill a role that straddles the line between brother and father whether he realizes it or not.    
  
“Watch it, kid. If it weren’t for Max, you’d have ripped all your stitches out by now,” Jessica says. Ash looks down, focusing on the IV in his arm. He hears shuffling as Max retreats back to Jessica. Neither of them are expecting a thank-you, and it doesn’t come.    
  
“You’re a hell of a fighter,” Max says, almost in awe. It makes Ash roll his eyes.   
  
“Well, I’ve had plenty of practice,” Ash reminds him. When he looks over at Max and Jessica, they almost look… Relieved. Like when everybody thought he’d died after being transported to the National Mental Health Institute but he’d proven them wrong.   
  
“They said you might not make it,” Jessica says. “So don’t act like a smart ass. Just let me and Max be gushy for two seconds and then we’ll stop.”   
  
“Fine, whatever.” Ash tries to sound as nonchalant as he can, but he’s a little shocked at Jessica’s words. He remembers very little after killing Lao and reading the rest of Eiji’s letter in the library. Speaking of…   
  
“It’s just so nice to get to talk to you again, you’ve just been in and out for the past — ”   
  
“What happened to my letter?” Ash demands, a rare quality of panic settling into his voice. Max and Jessica exchange a confused look.    
  
“Eiji wrote me a letter.” He knows he sounds hysterical, knows that starting to panic over a dumb piece of paper does not bode well for the image of himself he prefers Max and Jessica to see, but he can’t control it. “I had it with me when…” He shakes his head. “It’s important,” he finally says pleadingly.   
  
“I bet it’s with everything else they found on you at the library,” Max says, unsure. “I don’t think it’ll do you any good worrying about it. Are you hungry?” he adds, steering the subject away from Eiji, like he knows any mention of the boy will risk whatever temporary calm has settled in the hospital room. “You have to be, all you’ve been eating is applesauce and Jello. Let’s just — ”   
  
“Does Eiji know?” Ash asks, his stomach sinking. He wasn’t there to say good-bye to Eiji at the airport. Sure, that  _ had  _ been a deliberate decision on Ash’s end, a last ditch effort to rip the bandaid off directly, but then the letter and the plane ticket had changed everything. Ash had so much to say. Of course, now Eiji is on the other side of the world, either convinced Ash is an asshole or worrying over whether or not he’s alive.   
  
“Max told Shunichi. We all decided it was probably best that Eiji doesn’t know the full story right now,” Jessica explains.   
  
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Ash looks from Jessica, who’s unwavering, to Max, who looks sheepish. “Eiji is a grown man, so treat him like one.”   
  
“We didn’t know if you’d live!” Jessica snaps. “I don’t know how this isn’t getting through your head, Ash. You were hurt  _ really  _ badly. When Max and I first came to visit we thought we might be planning your _ funeral _ !” Ash flinches as her voice grows thick with emotion, stern eyes glaring with tears. Max mumbles something to her, rests his hand on hers, and she sighs, the tension slowly evaporating from her body. “Because it was so serious, we didn’t want Eiji to worry whether or not you’d live or die. We just wanted to give him a direct answer, I promise.”   
  
“He’s not a child.” It’s a statement, his combativeness dying down.   
  
“You know Eiji’s history…” Jessica trails off. The implication of Eiji’s depression swinging back around all due to Ash hurts more than anything. He’s still angry on Eiji’s behalf by the fact that the three of them concluded him to be too fragile for bad news, but even more, Ash aches. Literally and figuratively.    
  
“Well, I lived, didn’t I?” Ash asks, shrinking into himself. The wound on his side seems to pulse with dulled pain, and he scrunches up his nose uncomfortably as the feeling comes and goes. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He can’t imagine the look of horror on Eiji’s face as Max or Jessica or Ibe calls to calmly explain how Ash had brushed shoulders with death. He knows he’d blame himself for being at the airport instead of by his side. Eiji’s logic works its way into the fantastical sometimes. “Y’know, I could actually go for some food.”   
  
Clearly relieved, Max flags down a nurse walking by and she nods. Max then smiles at Ash, drawing another eye roll from him. “Looks like you’ve got some fans. That nurse was practically beaming when I told her you had an appetite.”   
  
Ash shrugs. People, much less  _ strangers _ caring about him is such a foreign idea that he can’t truly acknowledge it. Immediately his mind jumps to assumptions he isn’t particularly fond of but reflect what he knows best—any “fans” he has among the nurses and other staff probably just enjoy the sight of him, pretty and helpless. And why not enjoy that power over him? Already he’s demonstrated he can’t even sit up on his own.    
  
His suspicions aren’t quelled even when the nurse comes back with a hot meal and kindly explains that usually dinner isn’t served for another half hour but she managed to get something for him to eat anyway even if it isn’t much. She makes sure it’s set up nice and even offers to pour the juice box (a juice box! Like Ash isn’t eighteen!) into the plastic cup for him. He declines just to get her out of the room. His shortness is noticeable, apparently, because Max makes an apology on his behalf that the nurse waves away. She leaves without a fuss.   
  
“I hate this shit,” Ash grumbles, stabbing his juice box with the accompanying straw.   
  
“Jeez. If you want water, just ask,” Max says.   
  
“I’m not talking about the  _ juice _ ,” Ash says plainly as if he’s dealing with a child or an idiot. “I’m talking about the hospital. I’m a sitting duck here.”   
  
“Ash, hospitals are more secure than you’re giving them credit for,” Jessica points out dryly. “Besides, aren’t all your enemies dead? Or am I misremembering?”   
  
“I’m not talking about people on the  _ outside _ … If anybody…” He shakes his head, using a plastic spork to push through some mashed potatoes. Voicing his concerns makes him realize how paranoid he’s being. What a dumb idea, that a nurse or a doctor would want to kill him. Or torture him. Or rape him. Or… “I don’t like that I’m on mystery drugs or that somebody else has to bring me my food or that I have to wait around until some doctor says the word before I can even get out of here.”   
  
“Jessica and I are right here, Ash,” Max says. Ash can tell he’s making an effort to not sound pitying or sympathetic but it fails completely. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen.”   
  
“Lucky me, I have bodyguards,” Ash says sarcastically. On one hand, he can’t trust Jessica and Max to protect him. On the other hand, he’s in no state to protect himself. He begrudgingly shovels some of the food in front of him into his mouth. The taste is nothing to write home about, but then again Ash has never eaten for pleasure’s sake either.   
  
“So, what happened?” Ash then asks. “I don’t really remember.”   
  
Max grimaces. “It’s not exactly dinner conversation, Ash.”   
  
“Try me. I’ve got a strong stomach.”   
  
“Well… You remember going to the library after Lao stabbed you, right?” Ash nods as he chews. “Some girl working found you all collapsed and bloody. Nearly scared the life out of her.” His voice takes on a stern, scolding tone for that brief moment before he continues. “She called 911 and you were immediately put in an ambulance. They tried to stop the bleeding on the way to the hospital. They could really only slow it, but apparently that’s what gave you a fighting chance. When you got here, they got you into surgery immediately. None of your organs were punctured so they sewed you back up nice and good. Then it was a matter of a blood transfusion.”   
  
“Yum,” Ash says dead-pan as he takes a long sip of his juice box. “I think I’m good on the details. You said I’ve been in and out? Did I say anything funny?”   
  
“You haven’t really been talking much at all,” Max says with a shrug. “Besides today. Makes me sort of miss when you were unconscious,” he adds with a smirk. The teasing makes Ash feel better.   
  
“And you two have been at my bedside this whole time? Your dedication is really flattering.”   
  
“You little brat,” Jessica says affectionately. “Usually we take shifts during the day. You just happened to wake up the day we had someone watching Michael.”   
  
“Sounds like a lot of trouble for some hoodlum,” Ash points out.   
  
“You’re not just some hoodlum,” Jessica scoffs. “We didn’t want you to wake up alone.”   
  
Ash is taken aback by this admission. They’d really done that, just so he would be able to see a familiar face when he woke up? It makes him feel a little sappy. “Well, thanks. Both of you.”   
  
“Oh, a couple of days ago you did get another visitor,” Max adds. Ash wonders which of his gang members would be so dumb as to trek over to a hospital to see him, when he wasn’t even conscious, at that. “Sing came in when I was here.”   
  
“Sing?” Ash repeats, blinking. He likes the kid well enough, but they were never very close outside of necessity. He had some fun times with Sing, sure, but he’d also just killed his brother. Maybe that’s what his visit was about. If it made the guy feel better, Ash would let him push him around a bit. He probably deserved it, too.    
  
“Yup. I don’t think he expected to see me because he got all shy and awkward. He didn’t stay for very long, just came and went. I think he might’ve wanted to see you alive for himself.”   
  
“If I’d known, I would’ve made an effort to be more… Alive.” He can picture Sing uncomfortably staring at his unconscious body being pumped with fluids and drugs all while Max reads a magazine behind him. It’s almost comical.   
  
Max laughs. “Right, right. I’ll warn you next time.”    
  
Max and Jessica stick around to make sure Ash eats the majority of his dinner before they take off to relieve Michael’s babysitter of her duties. To Ash’s surprise, Jessica even offers to stay with him for the night. His talk about being helpless must have gotten to her, but he rejects her proposal, assuring her that he wants the two of them to get some sleep.    
  
When they’re gone, Ash feels… Lonely. He’d taken their presence for granted but it genuinely did make the hospital room more bearable. And they’d been a welcome distraction from his thoughts, which, now that he’s alone, keep going back to Eiji.   
  
It must be morning in Japan. He wonders if Eiji is awake yet, then figures he has to be, being the early bird he is. He loved that dumb expression, “the early bird gets the worm,” when he learnt it. Ash had pointed out that the later bird got more sleep, and then Eiji had asked what was so nice about sleep. Ash had said he just liked being unconscious to the world.   
  
Unconscious to the world, huh? Is that why his reflexes stuttered and let Lao’s knife in?

* * *

  
It has to be around 2 AM when Ash wakes up to see a looming figure peering at him from the doorway. He thinks that maybe it’s left over from whatever dream he was having until it moves.   
  
“Blanca,” he mumbles. The sight of the assassin moving through the darkness would be enough to give anyone a fright, but Ash feels nothing. He was afraid of Blanca once, when the man that was— _ still is _ —his whole world was in the equation and one precise shot could take him away for good, but now a sense of calm falls over him. Maybe he’s here to kill me, Ash thinks. Another job. Finish what Lao started. He  _ did  _ stick to Yut-Lung. The kid must be paying him a good sum.   
  
Blanca kneels down next to the hospital bed like he’s going to speak a prayer. Ash can now see his face clearly, and he looks about the same as he did when he last saw him. He realizes that was also the day he got stabbed. So much had happened then. His last glimpse of Blanca, Eiji and Ibe’s departure, and of course, his uncomfortable encounter with Lao.   
  
“What about the Caribbean?” Ash asks. He tries to turn on his side to properly face his former teacher but his injury has other ideas, the pain stopping him dead in his tracks. He winces, subconsciously attempting to hide his reaction. “Nevermind. I don’t care. Get it over with.”   
  
Blanca lets out a laugh. It’s airy and light, uncanny with his overwhelming frame and of course his intimidating career path. He’s the complete opposite of Max and Jessica in terms of demeanor, no traces of worry or pity. “I’m not here to do anything but talk, Ash. You know I’m fond of you. If I was here to kill you, I’d do it while you were asleep.”   
  
“I’m flattered,” Ash says dryly. Maybe he should have let Jessica stay. But in his heart he knows that wouldn’t have made a difference; Blanca is stealthy and clever, as evident from the fact he was able to stroll right into Ash’s room. He’d probably have just subdued the poor woman and stuffed her in a utility closet.    
  
“I wasn’t lying about going back to the Caribbean.  _ Somebody  _ was admitted to the hospital with a rather egregious stab wound, so I made the choice to delay my leave.” Ash snorts. Blanca chose to stay in New York, just for him? A bizarre idea, certainly. “Speaking of, my offer still stands.”   
  
“Join you on your little vacation? Sounds like a snooze fest.” His thoughts still wander briefly to beaches and seafood, and, best of all, a little slice of the world where nobody knows the name Ash Lynx. Where he can just  _ be _ . His faraway look must betray his flimsy display of disinterest, but Blanca chooses not to call him out on his bluff.    
  
“I have my fun,” Blanca hums. “You’ve made your choice, I know, but if you ever want to get away…” He trails off, letting Ash bask in the idea for a few moments. “I understand you have ties here you just won’t give up. Speaking of, where  _ is  _ my favorite Japanese tourist? I was sure I’d have a run-in with him here.”   
  
Ash looks back up to the white ceiling, trying to swallow the lump in his throat that appears with the mention of Eiji. “He went home.”   
  
“Did you send him away?” Ash can’t quite read Blanca’s tone. It’s nothing like he expected, with almost a quality of care or softness. It catches Ash off-guard.   
  
“No. I didn’t. But I thought maybe it was best.” Ash looks back at Blanca and his face suddenly falls. “I don’t care what you think but I  _ miss  _ him. I miss him so much it hurts, Blanca. I started missing him the night I went to go see him here.” He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep himself from crying. He’s done crying in front of Blanca. He’s not fifteen anymore, he’s not afraid of the world, yet it’s like Blanca’s presence always brings that side back out, and all he can do is fight against it. “I never should’ve said good-bye…  _ Fuck. _ ”   
  
Blanca is silent for a moment, observing Ash as he slowly loses the battle, tears beginning to trickle down his pale face. “It’s hard to give up someone you love. Someone who loves you.”    
  
“I love him  _ so much _ . I didn’t think it was supposed to hurt,” Ash continues. “But that’s all that it is. I love Eiji and the more I love him the more it  _ hurts _ . Like, so fucking bad. And so fucking…  _ Good,  _ too. I know it makes me weak and I don’t care, Blanca, so don’t start.  _ Please. _ ” He sniffs and tries to wipe away his tears.   
  
And Blanca smiles at him.  _ Smiles _ . “I think you deserve to be weak, Ash.” He reaches into his pocket and hands him a handkerchief. The action seems to draw Ash back to his senses and he gives him an indignant glare before accepting it, staining the fabric with his snot and tears as he tries to regain some composure.   
  
“Does it matter what I deserve?” Ash asks with a humorless laugh.   
  
“I’d like to think so, yes.” He tries to hand back Blanca’s handkerchief but the man simply waves it away, shaking his head. “I’m not here just to watch you cry, though.” (Fuck off, Ash thinks.) “There’s the matter of your… Reputation. Let’s put it that way. I’m sure you’ve been wondering when you’ll get some detectives snooping around, right?” (Ash hadn’t even considered the thought. He  _ is  _ losing his edge.) “I can get you out of here, Ash. No trouble, no fuss. You’ll have some time to figure out what you want to do next.”   
  
Ash frowns, shaking his head slightly. “No offense, but I don’t trust that at all. You’d be breaking me out of a hospital out of, what, the goodness of your own heart?”   
  
“Not exactly. I think we can come to agree on a fair price tag.” The ghost of a smile plays upon Blanca’s lips, reveling in the deja vu of his words.   
  
“Right, of course,” Ash says with an eye roll. The suggestion is definitely a joke; they both know that Ash has more money than he can comprehend after he inherited the bulk of Golzine’s wealth. “And?”   
  
“And nothing,” Blanca says. “I know somewhere you can lay low. I’ll even stick around. Just like old times.”   
  
“Old times,” Ash says with little emotion. “Is that what this is about?”   
  
Blanca shrugs. “Again, I’m fond of you. I’m not trying to turn back time, Ash. Don’t get me wrong. But I still think of you as my student. I’ve taught you to the best of my abilities, but a part of me… Struggles with how things were.”   
  
“Oh, really? I’m not up to your standards, is it?” Ash smirks. “A little rough around the edges? A little high-strung? Didn’t you yourself say that I wasn’t assassin material?”   
  
Blanca shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. When I first met you…” A pause. “Ash, I don’t have regrets. I don’t linger on a past that can’t be changed. But I can acknowledge when I’ve made a mistake, and I made a terrible,  _ terrible _ mistake with you. I knew the man Dino was. I knew what was happening to you. I saw the fear and the hatred in your eyes. I saw the bruises. The tears. All of it.”   
  
“You gave me a way to get out, though. You gave me a way to defend myself,” Ash points out. He shakes his head, confusion written all over his face. “Am I supposed to be comforting you over the fact that other people hurt me? I don’t think that’s how this is supposed to go,” he says flatly.   
  
“No, Ash. You’re right. That’s not how this is supposed to go. I’m not very good at apologizing, am I?” Blanca gives a short laugh.   
  
“Apologizing? This was a build up to an apology?” Ash scoffs at the idea. “For what, exactly? You didn’t rape me. You taught me how to fight back.”   
  
“I never should have done that,” Blanca admits.    
  
Ash blinks at him in surprise. “I don’t understand. You taught me how to fight back,” he repeats. “I  _ needed _ to fight back.”   
  
“You were a child, Ash. You should never have  _ had  _ to do that. I don’t regret meeting you but I am sorry for standing to the side.” Blanca lets out a sigh, uncharacteristically troubled. “Perhaps I want to help you escape now because I didn’t back then. You deserve to be able to give up Ash Lynx, gang leader, and live some sort of life. Maybe not in the Caribbean… Maybe in Tokyo?” he suggests with a raised brow, a twinkle in his eyes.   
  
“He doesn’t live in Tokyo,” Ash mumbles. “Not full time. He goes to school there. He lives in some hick town 500 miles away. Izumo. You ever been?”   
  
“Nope. I think I’d like to see it someday, though.”   
  
“Yeah. Yeah, me too.” It feels weird to admit to anyone that isn’t Eiji. It feels like a betrayal of sorts. Ash in Izumo was their own private fantasy, a future that was only safe for the two of them to dwell upon. But the admission also feels like a beginning. A hope. A desire to make the fantasy reality. “Blanca…”   
  
“Yes, Ash, I’m done bothering you, I’ll get out of your room and let you sleep now,” Blanca says with a good-natured smile, getting up off his knees.   
  
“No, I mean, I think I’ll take you up on your offer. On getting out of here.” It’s a risk. A huge risk. But it’s not like Ash isn’t experienced in playing with fire. He’s willing to get burned if it means a shot at a life with Eiji.   
  
“Smart boy,” Blanca grins. From the doorway he looks like a shadowed specter. “I’ll see you soon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> max says "look who's awake" here just on a whim lol he does not really expect ash to be up and talking...he's been doing this every time ash wakes up and passes out again
> 
> i think this chapter really illustrates how little i know about how bodies and hospitals work 💖 its ok bc we wont be spending a lot of time here :)


	4. Phone Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> " _italics_ " indicates when japanese is being spoken :D

Ever since he got home, Eiji has been restless.    
  
Home. That  _ is  _ what Izumo is to Eiji, but as soon as he stepped foot here the magic seemed to have vanished. He’d missed his family plenty, but ever since his return they haven’t been able to leave him alone. He feels guilty for finding this aspect annoying—after all, it  _ was  _ him who disappeared in a foreign country and then ended up coming back with an injury that had once been life threatening. His parents and his sister have been doting on him constantly, and that’s without knowing the fact that this has not been Eiji’s first gunshot wound. They know he and Ibe had been working on an article about gangs in New York, but Eiji would sooner die than reveal just how involved he had been with the bloodshed.   
  
In any case, Eiji likes his house. He likes eating Japanese food,  _ real _ Japanese food with all the ingredients and techniques that were missing from his attempts in New York. He likes his childhood bedroom, as pristine and untouched as he left it. He loves his parents, he loves his little sister, he even loves being around them, as much as he feels worn out from their constant attention presently. So, why does his heart hurt so much? Why does he feel so… Homesick?    
  
That’s truly the closest to an accurate description he can get. During his first week in New York, he felt so overwhelmed. He would be caught up in the excitement of the day and then the moment he and Ibe got some moments of repose back at their hotel room he would be left with an aching in his chest. He’d felt so empty for so long that the feeling scared him; even so, it wouldn’t leave him until he’d fall asleep, dreaming about his mother’s cooking.    
  
Laying in his bed now, he can feel that same longing. He misses the city. He misses the buildings. He misses the never-ending noise of cars and people passing by. He misses finding graffiti and setting up shots to capture words he couldn’t decipher.   
  
Most of all, he misses the people. Kong and Bones. Alex. Cain. Sing. Max. And of course, more than anyone or anything, he misses Ash.   
  
“ _ Niisan, dinner’s getting cold. _ ”   
  
Eiji looks up to see his younger sister looming over him. Even though he’s been back for a while now, it’s still a shock to see how much she’s matured. When Eiji left, her hair had been long enough to reach her mid-back. Now, it’s been chopped off, residing a couple of inches below her chin, currently pinned back with a couple of barrettes. Her face is different, too; it used to be rounder, although that youthful cute factor still sticks around, just as it does for Eiji. She’d grown as well, probably not noticeable to anybody who’d been around, but it was quite the shock for Eiji.   
  
“ _ I’m expecting a call, _ ” he explains. It’s nice to speak Japanese again. In New York, all he had to converse in his native tongue was Ibe. He’d been teaching Ash some. The American had become irritated with Eiji’s slower teaching style and had started teaching himself—something Eiji knew he’d tried to hide from him, perhaps to spare his feelings, but something he figured out very quickly. In any case, Ash wasn’t a terrible speaking partner, but their conversations were relegated to basic subjects like the weather.    
  
“ _ I know that, but it’s getting a little late. Maybe whoever it is forgot. _ ” Seeing the troubled look that clouds Eiji’s face after this suggestion, she hurriedly tries to wave it away. “ _ It’s okay if you don’t have dinner! I got some ice cream today and I thought we could watch TV and have some. After your call, _ ” she adds.   
  
“ _ Sure thing, Keiko. _ ” Relieved, she retreats from his bedroom. He’s sure she’ll relay the entire conversation back to his worried parents. Eiji knows they’re waiting with bated breaths to see who he is now. He’d left with a different kind of wound, one that had tensions wearing thin between them all. Knowing whether or not he’s better is a tricky thing. He knows he’s different, but whether that’s good for him is unclear.   
  
He doesn’t like thinking too much about it. He wishes his phone would just ring already and he’d be able to at least put one of the fears gnawing at him to rest.   
  
A few days ago, Eiji had gotten a call from Sing. He wasn’t surprised to be hearing from him; Sing had expressed strong interest in keeping in touch, and Eiji had given him the okay to call whenever he wanted, long distance charges be damned. But in that call Sing had been so upset that it was hard to make out anything he was saying. It sounded like he was crying, or had just finished doing so.    
  
When Sing had finally been able to say everything in a relatively calm manner, Eiji had understood why he was so upset in the first place. Sing told him the basics of what had happened: Ash was stabbed outside the library and was bleeding heavily for who knows how long until somebody had called 911 and he’d gone into the hospital fighting for his life. Sing explained he’d just finished visiting Ash, and when Eiji asked how he was, Sing had said he didn’t know. He wasn’t conscious and looked very sickly, apparently.   
  
Eiji hid his panic well until Sing had finally hung up, mumbling a whole bunch of apologies. (For what, Eiji still has no clue. Maybe Sing felt guilty about Ash getting hurt, or maybe he felt bad for Eiji since nobody had bothered to clue him in on what was going on before.) Then, he’d called Ibe. The conversation was tense, drawn out for a long while before Ibe finally admitted he’d known about Ash’s incident all along. He assured Eiji that Ash was alive and was probably going to live but his words provided little comfort. Eiji had to see Ash with his own eyes.   
  
It was hard to keep everything he was feeling internalized. He didn’t want his family to worry and he wasn’t sure if he should even try and contact Ash. He knew Ash wouldn’t want him to get involved with whatever threat he was facing, and he himself was unsure whether or not he would be able to face the dangerous reality of Ash’s life again without crumbling, but it was a short-lived battle. He called Max yesterday, still confrontational with the memory of his conversation with Ibe, but ended up not having to fight at all. Eiji had never felt so elated as he had when he was informed Ash was awake and relatively active.    
  
In any case, on that call Max agreed to have Eiji and Ash facetime, during the evening for Eiji, morning for Ash. Eiji had questioned Max about this, pointing out that Ash loathed waking up before noon, but Max told him getting up earlier and staying awake longer would be good for him.   
  
Eiji knows that there’s a large chance that Ash won’t wake up anytime soon, or maybe even at all today. If he has to wait until tomorrow morning, he will, but he just wishes Max would call and let him know before his family starts to get nosy about him being cooped up in his room.    
  
He wishes he could go out for a run, a sure-fire remedy for anxious thoughts, but of course even the simplest of physical activities require medical clearance he has not gotten yet. He then wonders for what feels like the thousandth time this hour how Ash is holding up. Surely  _ he  _ isn’t in any condition to go out running.    
  
He doesn’t know how he’s going to handle seeing Ash. The worry and aforementioned longing are certainly there, but they give no way to words. What will he say? What  _ can  _ he say? Hey, good morning, you’re an idiot and I’m so glad you’re alive and I love you?    
  
Then, his phone starts vibrating on his chest. He freezes before sitting up (his gunshot wound protests this movement immensely but he powers through) and staring dumbly at his phone for a few moments. It’s Max.    
  
Eiji answers with a false grin that hopefully hides how nervous he feels. On his screen, Max gives a wave. When he talks, there’s a grainy quality to the audio. “Hey Eiji, how’re ya doin’?”   
  
“About the same as the last time you asked!” he says through that large, almost maniacal smile. He does not feel like delving into small talk with Max again. The day before he asked how his pain was on a scale from 1 to 10, a clear indication he had spent way too much time hanging around the hospital.    
  
“Oh, okay, cool, I’m just here with Ash, y’know—”   
  
“Give me the fucking phone,” calls out a voice from off-screen. Eiji’s heart leaps.   
  
“Christ, I was just about to. No patience these days,” Max grumbles. He then presumably hands the phone over to Ash, as there’s a lot of rustling against the microphone. The camera picks up some of the ceiling and then finally Ash’s face comes into view.   
  
“Oh, Ash…” Eiji can’t help but say. Sing was right to be afraid; the face on Eiji’s phone screen definitely looks a little corpse-ish. It’s clear he’s lost weight; there’s a certain hollowness to his cheekbones that wasn’t there before. For as long as Eiji has known him, Ash has had perpetual dark circles, but they are even more pronounced now. His blond hair is greasy and stringy, and on closer inspection Eiji can even make out some light hairs on his upper lip.    
  
Still, he wants to cry from relief. It’s definitely Ash. Alive and breathing. Still as beautiful as ever. His chest gets tighter just staring at him. Ash’s soft, fond expression indicates something similar.   
  
“That bad, huh?” Ash finally responds with a goofy grin. Eiji never knew how much he missed seeing these rare glimpses of a care-free Ash.   
  
“No, no,” Eiji replies hurriedly. “I just…” How does he even begin to explain how much joy his stupid low resolution picture gives him? “...The camera quality makes you look really ugly.” A lie plain as day; Ash couldn’t be ugly even if he tried.   
  
He laughs, green eyes twinkling. “The lighting isn’t doing me any favors either,” he says after drawing the phone closer and squinting, probably checking out his little mirror in the corner of the screen. Eiji is able to see his face in full again when he retreats.    
  
And then they just stare at each other again in comfortable silence. What Eiji wouldn’t give to be there right now, to be by Ash’s side instead of thousands of miles away, talking through a screen.    
  
“So… Max grew a pair and told you what happened?” Ash says, interrupting the silence.   
  
“Mm… Not exactly,” Eiji admits. “Sing called me actually. A bit ago.”   
  
Ash turns to presumably shoot Max a glare of sorts before he turns his attention back to Eiji. “Sorry I got myself hurt in the first place but also I’m sorry nobody bothered to tell you.”   
  
“It’s okay,” Eiji says, another lie. If he knew, he could’ve been on a plane to New York by now… That might be a fair reason to keep him in the dark, admittedly. “Not like you could’ve told me yourself.”   
  
“You didn’t pick up on my psychic waves?” Ash teases. “Thought our telepathic bond was great.”   
  
“We’ve got to work on it more, apparently,” Eiji smiles. He then pauses, taking a few moments to think. “So, speaking of Sing…” He trails off. He’d always known Ash probably wouldn’t show up to see him off to Japan—of course, he was right, and it hurt like hell at the time, but he’d planned ahead. He’d written a letter to emulate the good-bye he would’ve told Ash in person and entrusted Sing to deliver it. Getting back to Japan, Eiji had assumed Ash had received it; he hoped to the heavens he would read it, but in the end it was all up to him.    
  
And then the ticket. It was a stupid idea. Eiji feels guilty now about the implications it held; he’d pretty much suggested Ash give up everything he knows. At the time he reasoned Ash didn’t have to use it if he didn’t want to, and if he did, he could always buy a return ticket later. But now, staring at Ash through the phone, he feels so selfish for even suggesting that Ash should leave his entire life behind just for him. They’d always talked about Japan, but a part of Eiji has always suspected Ash only entertained the idea because it was comforting, not because it held any real weight in his conscience.    
  
But then Sing had called with news about Ash in the hospital. Eiji forgot to even ask about the letter then since the conversation was solely about Ash’s wellbeing. It’s possible Ash never even got his hands on that envelope. And if he hadn’t, well, Eiji isn’t sure he can just spill his heart all over again.   
  
“Speaking of Sing,” Eiji continues, “did he ever give you the letter I wrote you?”   
  
“Yeah, he did,” Ash says. If Eiji isn’t mistaken, he looks… Downcast. Not what he was expecting for a reaction at all. Maybe Eiji had made a miscalculation; maybe Ash didn’t care for his sappy little expression of friendship. The thought makes him want to vomit.   
  
“Did you read it…?” Eiji asks nervously.   
  
Ash pauses, looking thoughtful. He then turns. “Max, can you leave?”   
  
“Uh, yeah,” Eiji hears Max say.   
  
“Go get a bagel from the cafeteria or something.” There’s a pause while Max leaves. Eiji can practically feel his heart in his throat.    
  
“So?” Eiji prompts again, offering his best attempt at a normal smile.   
  
“Yeah, I read it,” Ash says finally. “I read it a few times. Haven’t really been able to get started on a response, seeing as how I’m bedridden and all, but yeah.”   
  
“I don’t need a  _ response _ ,” he says. “I just wanted you to know how I felt.”   
  
Ash smiles and Eiji might just burst. “I really admire that about you. You never have any trouble saying how you feel. Even though you probably should.”    
  
“That’s not true. Not necessarily.” The last time they spoke like this, had a genuine conversation that is, feels like eons ago. Eiji doesn’t know what their last conversation was even about before everything went to shit, but he wishes he’d been brave enough to say what was on his mind. What had been on his mind for so long.   
  
“Well, you poured your whole heart into that letter.”   
  
“Because it was you,” Eiji blurts out. It’s always you, he thinks. He remembers being back in the luxury apartment, spending the days when Ash wasn’t out watching TV or dancing along to the radio or making new recipes. The nights Eiji would spend in his own bed, feet apart from Ash’s. He looked like an angel when he slept. Somebody Eiji so desperately wanted, and still wants, to protect.   
  
He remembers the stray touches. A hand on the small of his back or on his waist as Ash moved past him to get to the coffee pot. Fingers moving through his hair to fluff it up. Shoulders brushing, knees bumping, he was so acutely aware of it all, and sometimes he’d catch Ash’s jade eyes and for a moment he’d become convinced it was all deliberate.    
  
Eiji feels so guilty for carrying such feelings with him. He’s not sure when they even started. It feels wrong to watch Ash now and reminisce on these memories, amplified and intense with that messy amalgamation of attraction and devotion.    
  
Ash’s love is shown through his actions. Eiji knows this intrinsically. But he’s unsure what the course of that love is. He cherishes Eiji as a friend, a partner, it would be stupid to say otherwise, but…   
  
What about as a lover? He suspects they both want as much but such a decision might not be one Ash can ever make. The thought hurts Eiji, but below the surface he just wants Ash as he is and if it means simply existing in the same space, he’ll take it.    
  
So, Eiji understands. But, at the same time, he’s selfish.    
  
“You know, don’t you?” Eiji asks. “You know I mean forever. You know what I want.”   
  
Ash’s breath seems to catch. “Yeah, but…”   
  
“If you’re going to just be self-deprecating I don’t want to hear it,” Eiji says with slight irritation. “I know the worst parts of you. I also know the best. I think I have enough context to know I love you and to know I want to keep loving you for as long as I can.”   
  
“Eiji—”   
  
“You know what I mean, don’t you?” Eiji repeats. “I can’t find the right words, but you _ know _ , you do.” What’s the point of dancing anymore? Ash could have died. He could have died long ago, but this time, everything was supposed to be over. Ash was supposed to be safe. He landed on his feet eventually, but what about the next time?    
  
The next time. Eiji starts to tear up now. “I don’t understand the difference between loving you and being in love with you. I don’t believe there is a difference for me. You’re my best friend but I want something else.” His mouth feels dry. “I respect if you feel differently.”   
  
Ash is silent, perhaps gathering his thoughts. Eiji wants to hang up and throw his phone at the wall. “I think… I think you know exactly what I’m going to say, don’t you?” Eiji’s heart sinks. “Right? That I don’t want to put you in danger? That I’m damaged goods? That I don’t want to mess up a good thing?”   
  
“...Right.”   
  
“That’s what I thought I’d say, too. Honestly. But then…” Ash’s expression softens, a faint smile on his lips. “Then I remembered what it’s like to be with you. You make me so stupid, Eiji, I never had a chance. I love you. I do. Of course I do. I want a life with you.”   
  
“Ash…”   
  
“No, Eiji, be quiet, let me have my turn,” he chides. “I’ve had so much time to think about this, trust me. I want something else, too. Something new. I just don’t know how to…” He pauses. “I’m new to this. I don’t know how to be a boyfriend. I don’t think I know how to love correctly.”   
  
Eiji wants to say that’s stupid as all hell but one look at Ash’s concerned expression and he knows he’s serious and, more than that, afraid. “But I want to try. I really want to try,” he continues.   
  
“You already know how to love. It’s not something you can forget,” Eiji says softly. Ash still looks doubtful, which breaks Eiji’s heart. After all, it’s something Eiji learned from Ash. He watched Ash grow and love in spite of the hatred shown to him; it’s one of his favorite parts about him. To think he can’t even see it for himself.   
  
“You’ll have me, then? Even if I fuck everything up?” Ash asks.   
  
“If everything gets fucked up I think it’ll be on the both of us,” Eiji points out. “But yeah, as long as you want me, too.”   
  
He laughs, music to Eiji’s ears. “I’ll want you forever, darling.” Ash is clearly teasing but it still makes his heart whirl.   
  
“Right. Forever.”   
  
Ash’s attention is drawn away and his expression slowly returns to something more stoic. “Hey Max,” he says in greeting, mostly for Eiji’s benefit. He wishes he had time to ask if this new step in their relationship is something they are going to keep secret, or at least on the down-low. He knows Ash is a private person; maybe his reaction to Max coming back into the room is answer enough. Even around Max, he is going to quietly concede Eiji as his Achilles’ heel.    
  
“You guys have fun talking about me behind my back?” Max asks.   
  
“Oh, yeah. Had the time of my life,” Ash says dryly.    
  
“Don’t worry, you can keep talking. Use up all the battery for all I care.”   
  
“That’s alright. I think Eiji wants to turn in, don’t you, old man?” he sneers.   
  
“Oh, come on, the sun has barely set,” Eiji grumbles. He doesn’t want to hang up, but it’s clear Ash doesn’t feel comfortable talking as openly with Max in earshot. Still, it feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Even more, he’s overjoyed to be… What, is it dating? Dating Ash? So, that’s that? They’re official? The thought gives Eiji a whole bunch of butterflies.   
  
“The old folks home lets you stay up that late?” Ash lets out a low whistle. “I won’t keep you. Sayonara.” With his American accent, it sounds like  _ sigh-o-naw-ruh _ .   
  
“Don’t say that,” Eiji says quickly. “It sounds so permanent. Like you’re going on some long journey. It’s gross. Let’s just say… I’ll see you later. Alright?”   
  
“Alright,” Ash smiles. “Then, I’ll see you later, partner.”   
  
With that, Ash hangs up, leaving Eiji staring at his reflection in the darkness of his screen.  _ I’ll see you later _ . He repeats the phrase to himself a couple of times. How much later, he wonders? It’s a promise from him to Ash that they will reunite, but when?   
  
Because right now, Eiji is stuck in Japan. Never has he felt  _ trapped  _ by the confines of his home’s borders.    
  
He needs to see Ash in person. He needs to see for himself the injury that was carefully hidden away from him for so long. He needs to see him, this time truly face-to-face, no screens to get in the way.    
  
But… Does he have enough money for a plane ticket? His parents would never help out; all they know about New York is that it beat Eiji’s ass. And if he does have enough and he does leave, they would be  _ so  _ mad. Coming home to his parents' worry was terrible; their disappointment would be so much worse.   
  
He looks around at his room. Everything here is so nostalgic—the figurines he owns, the models he’s built, the books strewn about, the trophies that stand proud and tall. But it’s not him. It’s not his life anymore.   
  
“ _ Niisan, are you done? _ ” This time Eiji hears Keiko approach before she speaks. He looks over at her. She seems so eager, so excited. All that’s missing is a wagging tail.    
  
This room is not permanent. This house is not permanent. Eating icecream on the floor with Keiko while their parents comment on whatever TV show is playing is something he’s done so many times; it’s something he’s never really thought about losing. But, he knows, someday the little tradition will come to an end.    
  
That day won’t be today, though.   
  
“ _ Yes. Did you get me matcha flavor? _ ”   
  
“ _ No, they ran out, _ ” Keiko says with a pout.   
  
“ _ Then, what’d you get? _ ”   
  
“ _ Come find out, _ ” she says with a large grin, waiting as Eiji pushes himself off of his bed. “ _ You look better, niisan. Happier. _ ”   
  
He allows himself to dream of a day where it isn’t just him and Keiko, a day where the tradition grows to allow Ash in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel like pure shit just want her (japanese soft serve) back x 
> 
> i literally have no idea why the past chapters have been so dialogue-heavy lmfao sorry. next time we will be back in america with our friend sing B-) also i made eijis sisters name keiko bc i dont think she has a name. oh and i know in one of my last fics i made her 12 but here i want her to be more like 14-15. :)


	5. The Great Escape

When he was young, Sing’s father got into a car accident. Well, for all intents and purposes, it was a car accident in the sense that a car was there and the resulting injuries and financial burden were _probably_ an accident, but in a much more real sense Sing’s father had just been one unlucky son of a bitch. It was a hit and run, his dad a pedestrian abandoned bruised and bloodied on the street, the driver nowhere in sight. He’d been taken to the hospital—how long he’d stayed, Sing can’t remember. Hell, he can’t even remember what the visits were like, except that he _had_ visited him—his mom would pull him out school for half of the day and he would get all excited about missing and then he’d be shuffled into that little hospital room, suffocating even for a six year old, all while machines dictated his father’s life.  
  
This is all to say that Sing has been to this hospital before— _before_ before, prior to his involvement with the streets before. Returning now makes him feel just as small and lost as he felt as a child, but this time his mother isn’t holding his hand and leading him through the halls—this time, he’s all on his own.  
  
It’s late. Very late. Far past regular visiting hours and yet nobody has given him and the visitor’s badge he carefully swiped from the receptionist’s desk pinned to his shirt a second glance. His heart pounds; it’s really only a matter of time before someone realizes he does not belong.  
  
His destination is Ash’s room. He’s been there once before, when Ash was first admitted, practically a corpse as that reporter Max Lobo watched over him. It was a sight that made Sing’s blood run cold—the damage his brother caused so plainly visible unnerved him. It was as if Sing had handled the knife himself with how the guilt nestled itself into the pit of his stomach.  
  
He hadn’t gone to do anything, although Yut-Lung’s words— _I want Ash Lynx_ —echoed in his ears. He just had to see the state of Ash for himself after hearing how Blanca and Yut-Lung spoke of him—and, well, yeah, they hadn’t really pulled any punches. Ash certainly looked like shit. What Yut-Lung wants with Ash after such a crushing defeat, he has no clue.  
  
Then again, Yut-Lung’s whims are often nonsensical. Sing has learned as much from simply being around him. Whatever Yut-Lung and Ash have—whatever sort of rivalry Yut-Lung has conjured up in his mind—is far deeper and confusing than what Sing really wants to get involved in, but, then again, he needs Yut-Lung’s backing if he ever wants a chance in hell at whipping Chinatown back into shape. When he was staring at Ash’s body back then, so frail and ghostly, he’d made up his mind: he was going to give in to Yut-Lung’s childish demands.  
  
Up until a certain point, that is. Sing will break Ash out of here, stuff him into the getaway car parked out front (courtesy of the young Lee), tease Yut-Lung with the sight of the blond and then yank it all away from him. How exactly that works out is a problem for future Sing, but he knows he won’t be handing Ash over without a fight. After all, Yut-Lung isn’t the only one who has business with the lynx.  
  
Sing’s relationship with Lao was rocky by the end, sure, but he still needs closure. He wants to hear what happened straight out of Ash’s mouth precisely because he can’t ask his brother. Besides, he wants to know why Ash chose to save him over that metal briefcase during the confrontation with Foxx. It’s not as if he feels he _owes_ Ash anything, per se, but it is still…unsettling for him to think on. He needs the truth and if Ash won’t give it to him straight, well, maybe Yut-Lung can have him then. Or maybe he’ll just kill him.  
  
Sing has thought a lot about killing Ash lately. Not out of anger or grief (well, the idea arose partly due to these feelings); instead, he thinks of it as he would a math equation, calculating and practical. _(Sing - Lao) + Ash = x._ The variable lies somewhere along street rules, the ones he abandoned in order to make peace with Ash. In the end, the exercise really is just a desire to stick to what Sing knows, particularly with how he knows how to deal with conflict, and it doesn’t really reflect his inner feelings or desires at all.  
  
What might best portray what is going on in Sing’s head regarding Ash would probably be a knot, one of those complex ones that he might have learned in Boy Scouts if he’d ever attended more than one meeting. He feels like he _has_ to hate Ash, and yet he can’t bring himself to do it. Sure, he’s pissed about Lao, but in relation to Ash, that anger seems to fizzle out. The last spark of it vanished when he’d seen Ash so beaten down in that hospital bed. He sort of just feels sorry any of this shit happened in the first place.  
  
Funnily enough, he’s found he trusts Ash. He’s always been reliable and Sing has always respected him. He thought he was sticking by his side at first because that was the path Shorter had left for him, and maybe that’s how it began, but he’s realized that it was all because Ash is a good leader. Better than Sing, though he hates to admit it. He’s confident, collected, and sharp as a whip to boot. Really, it makes him jealous.  
  
Right now, though, Sing operates on autopilot. He catches himself as he nearly stumbles directly in front of a nurse’s station situated right by Ash’s room. Cursing himself silently for managing to be so clumsy, he presses his back flush against the wall, trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. His heart is pounding in his chest as he waits for someone to call him out, but seconds pass and nothing happens.  
  
When he finally feels comfortable enough to look back out to the nurse’s station, he realizes with a shock that there is nobody there. Confused, he walks forward, examining the area carefully, determined to keep his wits about him. Then, he registers that there _is_ in fact somebody at the station—a woman is slumped over in a chair, her seemingly unconscious body previously obscured from sight by a monitor.  
  
Sing is debating whether or not to investigate further or just take this happenstance as a stroke of luck and continue with his heist when he hears the unmistakable sound of a door opening and closing from somewhere down the hall past the nurse’s station. Well, it was a good shot, he tells himself. You did your best. Breaking Ash out of here was a stupid idea in the first place. Of course you always knew you couldn’t do it.  
  
He’ll just take his luck posing as an innocent, confused kid that somehow got through the cracks. Worst case scenario, he’d have to spill a little blood for a getaway. Nothing he hasn’t done before. Showing up at Yut-Lung’s with empty hands will be embarrassing, sure, but while he’s getting scolded at or shunned he can feel as sorry for himself as he wants, coming into this hospital with some half-baked idea for a jailbreak. Why did he even bother to come? For leverage against Yut-Lung? To satisfy his own selfish desires to see Ash, just once, in a state where he has to concede some power?  
  
Then, Sing’s jaw drops. Moving towards him, carrying himself as if he runs the place, is _Blanca_. Sing briefly thinks something along the lines of what the _utter_ fuck as his feet are glued to the ground and all he can do is observe the man casually strolling towards him, clad in unassuming blue scrubs and pushing an empty wheelchair in front of him.  
  
“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Sing mutters as Blanca looms over him.  
  
“Here on Yut-Lung’s business, are you?” The words aren’t an accusation but instead a simple statement; still, they make Sing’s face go red.  
  
“I’m here on my own business,” he hisses. “It just happens to overlap with Yut-Lung’s.”  
  
“I see,” Blanca says. “You know, I’m in a similar predicament myself. Well then, we don’t really have time to be standing around, do we? Walk and talk, Sing. Or do you want me to push you around in the chair?”  
  
Taken aback, Sing feels he has no choice but to follow Blanca as he turns into the hall onto the left, lined with hospital rooms, one of which Sing knows to be Ash’s. Irritatingly, it’s a struggle to keep up with the man and his long strides.  
  
“Why are you here?” Sing asks, befuddled.  
  
“Same reason you’re here,” Blanca says, glancing over to see a flash of surprise on Sing’s face. He’s unsure if he’s just bluffing or if he truly is that perceptive. “Breaking Ash out, right?” Maybe it’s easy to conclude after seeing him wandering the hospital carrying himself like he’s on a solo mission, but it’s still unsettling to hear Blanca sound so _confident_ about his hypothesis.  
  
“Why the fuck am I following you?” Sing gives a defeated sigh.  
  
“I’m thinking our objectives are lining up here, but if you want to run off with your tail between your legs, be my guest.” Sing bristles at this suggestion. “Right. Didn’t think so.”  
  
They make another turn and pass some more of the same doors, differentiated solely by numbers. “We have to be quick and quiet about this. Ash has nurses checking in on him every hour or so.”  
  
“ _We_?” Sing asks. “Why do you want my help?”  
  
“I don’t,” Blanca admits. “I could do this on my own, but I’m feeling generous. Also, you have better connections to Yut-Lung than I do, and I think his estate might be a better place to hide Ash than the place I’m renting.”  
  
Sing feels like his head is spinning. “But Yut-Lung _hates_ Ash.”  
  
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”  
  
“I mean, I wasn’t planning to _leave him_ at Yut-Lung’s mansion!” he hisses.  
  
“What were you planning, then?” Blanca asks.  
  
“God, I don’t know! Have him hide out with me in Chinatown?!”  
  
“See, you’re lucky you ran into me. You don’t think that’s the first place they’d look?” Blanca shoots Sing a smug look. “Planning for every step ahead is crucial, Sing. Let that be a lesson to you. In any case, I have reason enough to believe that Yut-Lung will not hurt Ash. I doubt anyone would be able to manage to get close enough to him there.”  
  
“You think he won’t hurt him all because you asked nicely?” Sing asks, appalled.  
  
Blanca gives a short laugh. “Hmm… Yes. But I also believe Yut-Lung will have a hard time getting through me. Only if it came down to that, of course.” The words make Sing unwittingly shiver; he doesn’t want to imagine a physical altercation between Yut-Lung and Blanca. Surely Yut-Lung would be snapped in half like a twig. If Blanca were any normal guy, he’d wager Yut-Lung to have a pretty good shot despite his frame because of his quick wits and accuracy with acupuncture needles, but Blanca would certainly see any trick straight through.  
  
Sing barely registers that they are at Ash’s room until Blanca pulls him in through one of the many doors by his arm. He’s practically shoved in, and he glares daggers at Blanca as the man calmly closes the door after checking to see if any unfortunate souls managed to catch on.  
  
Blanca parks the wheelchair and nudges Ash’s sleeping body with his hand. “Go time,” he says as Ash wakes up with a start. It’s difficult to tell in the darkness, but he looks better than when Sing had first seen him, which is both a relief and worrying. If Blanca weren’t here, Sing wouldn’t have a chance in hell at convincing him to leave, and he seemed to be in a strong enough state to resist being smuggled away by force.  
  
“You came,” Ash grunts as he hoists himself up with his elbows. He glances over at Sing, his expression illegible in the dark. “Why’s he here?”  
  
“I ran into him. Do you mind?” Blanca asks.  
  
“Does it matter if I do?” Ash scoffs.  
  
Blanca shakes his head no. The exchange leaves Sing all the more confused, but he’s slowly able to piece things together. Ash must have had this all planned out; of course he wouldn’t let himself be stuck in a hospital for that long, especially not while the police still have plenty of interest in him. What is truly mystifying is how he got in touch with Blanca, but then again, how does _anyone_ get in touch with Blanca? Bat signal? In any case, Sing is not privy to such things.  
  
Blanca rips off a part of the bed sheets with his hands, almost making Sing wince. “The fuck is that for?” he asks and is promptly ignored.  
  
“Sorry about this,” Blanca says to Ash as… Sing quiets a gag and forces his eyes shut as Blanca pulls the IV out from Ash’s arm. He can only assume that Blanca uses the scrap of sheet he’d borrowed to press against the blood pooling out from the exposed vein.  
  
“You can look now,” he tells Sing after a few moments. “Didn’t take you for the squeamish type, not with that Flying Dragon Fang of yours.”  
  
“Needles and shit are different,” Sing says. Just the thought of having an IV ripped out of his own arm is making his skin crawl, so even as he opens his eyes he pointedly avoids staring at Ash and Blanca.  
  
“Why’s he here?” Ash asks once again as Blanca ties the scrap of fabric around his arm. “Didn’t think you’d need an accomplice.”  
  
“Is it really smart to ask so many questions? We’re on a bit of a time crunch,” Blanca warns. “Can you stand?”  
  
“My legs still work,” Ash sniffs, though he struggles to turn his body to throw his legs off of the bed. Sing can only imagine that the stab wound in combination with his recent gunshot wound makes it difficult for any sort of smooth control of his torso. Blanca helps him up without a word and guides him to the wheelchair.  
  
“Okay. Sing, let’s go.”  
  
“...Right.”  
  
They leave the room, Sing walking in front of Blanca and Ash as they go back the way they came. The place almost feels like a maze and there will certainly be nobody to give floor plans, so they have to rely purely on memory. Sing allows himself to indulge in some feeling of relief as they make it past the nurse’s station without incident.  
  
“Can you be a little more gentle? I think I’m getting motion sickness,” Ash mumbles from behind him.  
  
Then, Sing spots a person in front of them, some sort of hospital staff. The man stares them down with wide eyes as he registers the odd group—a rough-looking kid with a patient in a wheelchair being pushed by a man who is clearly not a doctor. Sing can sympathize; it’s probably a very alarming sight.  
  
“Keep moving,” Blanca barks. Sing hadn’t been planning to stop.  
  
The man opens his mouth to call out for help, but Sing is faster—one flick of his wrist and the man is silenced, gasping for breath as the boy pulls his weapon taut, the wire choking the consciousness out of him. He falls over with a reverberating _thud_ when the blade lands back in Sing’s hand.  
  
“Let’s go,” Sing hisses at the two men behind him and begins to run, kicking the man’s body out of the way as he comes upon it, Blanca pushing hurriedly along behind him.  
  
“Oh God. This is worse. You stole a wheelchair but no barf bags?” Ash mumbles.  
  
“ _Be quiet_ ,” Blanca scolds.  
  
Eventually they make their way out. Sing rushes towards the awaiting limo (not a very discreet choice, but that’s Yut-Lung for you) and throws open the door. Blanca hurriedly scoops Ash up into his arms, causing the blond to let loose a long chain of unsavory words and phrases. Sing slides into the limo as Blanca approaches with Ash, who he unceremoniously shoves into the middle seat before climbing in himself.  
  
The driver speeds away as soon as Blanca shuts the door behind him. “I don’t suppose either of you have any clothes?” Ash says after a few breathless moments as they leave the hospital behind them. Hopefully they’ve bought enough time to get to Yut-Lung’s and lose any cops that might come after them.  
  
Sing looks at Ash, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares indignantly straight in front of him. He only has a hospital gown on—he doesn’t even have any shoes, though Sing supposes that part doesn’t matter so much considering Blanca has no qualms carrying him around. It was a little amusing to see the gang leader lifted up like he was a stuffed toy.  
  
“You’ll be given a change of clothes when we get there,” Blanca says.  
  
“Get _where_?” Ash grumbles. For the first time since the hospital room, he acknowledges Sing with a short glance towards him. “Sing’s hideout? Not what I had in mind when you told me you had a place, Blanca. No offense.”  
  
“None taken,” Sing says flatly. He thinks that Ash has no right to be picky—it’s not like they _had_ to break him out or anything, but whatever. Expecting gratitude from Ash is simply foolish in Sing’s eyes.  
  
“No,” Blanca says. Sing notices he’s grown quieter, and when he looks at Ash, he can see he’s picked up on the same thing. He begins to look irritated as he turns his head to Blanca, staring him down with that unrelenting green glare of his.  
  
“Why do I think you’re going to give me bad news?” Ash accuses.  
  
“You’re not going to like it,” Blanca agrees.  
  
“So? Are you gonna leave it a surprise or do I get to know where you’re kidnapping me off to?”  
  
“ _Kidnapping_? C’mon, Ash, we’re doing you a favor,” Sing says.  
  
Ash leans back against the leather seat and rolls his eyes. “Sorry if I’m not in a good mood. Getting woken up in the middle of the night to run around a hospital will do that to you.”  
  
“ _You_ weren’t even running!”  
  
“Stop squabbling,” Blanca scolds. “Ash, I know what you’re going to say, but you just really need to trust me. Okay?”  
  
The silence in the moment’s pause is almost suffocating until Ash finally gives a half-hearted, “Okay.”  
  
“We will be staying at Yut-Lung’s.”  
  
“Oh, _fuck_ no,” Ash says. “Nope. No. Not gonna happen.” He unbuckles his seat belt and tries to climb over Sing to get to the door, as if he’s in any state to jump out of a moving car. His tenacity is almost inhuman, Sing thinks to himself with simultaneous annoyance and respect.  
  
“Ash, calm down,” Blanca warns, but the blond continues to claw at the door as Sing attempts to hold him back. Finally, Sing draws his knee up and Ash lets out a yelp as he makes harsh contact with his stomach.  
  
“ _Motherfucker_ ,” Ash curses, groaning and falling back into his seat.  
  
“Sorry, Ash,” Sing says, watching the blond curl in on himself. He hopes he didn’t manage to hit the gunshot wound or, even worse, the stab wound—Yut-Lung would be _so_ pissed if Ash bled all over the inside of his limousine.  
  
“Fuck you,” Ash huffs in response.  
  
“Ash, listen. No one would ever suspect you’d be hiding out at Yut-Lung’s. He has medical staff that can treat you while you recover as well.” Ash glowers up at Blanca. “You don’t think you still need to recover? After that little freak-out you had? If you were at your full strength you could have gotten past Sing no problem. Do _not_ tell me you don’t need all the help you can get right now.”  
  
“Don’t I have a choice? Or are you two my babysitters now?” Ash hisses.  
  
“You made your choice when you agreed to my help,” Blanca points out. “One night, Ash. I just ask you to stay at Yut-Lung’s for one night, and then I will hear you out.”  
  
Ash seems to deflate as he considers this. “Fine,” he snaps. “Fine. One night.”  
  
The rest of the ride plays out in uncomfortable silence. Sing busies himself with watching the world through the dark tinted windows, trying to ignore Ash silently fuming beside him. Still without a seat belt, but there’s no way in hell Sing is going to try and put it back on for him. He’d rather Ash get thrown through the windshield due to some road misfortune than get his arm ripped off by the guy for getting too close.  
  
“This has been the shittiest night ever,” Sing says as the vehicle pulls into the estate.  
  
Ash snorts. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont rlly have much to say here. whenever i go to the childrens hospital they give those lil wristbands and but bc its the childrens hospital they put stickers on the end and i like getting spiderman :)


	6. The Dragon's Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for csa in this chapter (still, nothing is explicitly described, but still may be uncomfortable and/or triggering)

Being transferred from a hospital to a sketchy property in the middle of nowhere… The irony of this deja vu is not lost on Ash as Blanca helps him out of the car. Sing follows and the three of them wait as the limousine’s driver cuts his way in front of them, silently escorting them through a set of black gates. The man is as severe as anyone else hired by the Lees, and this cold disposition clashes terribly with the rag-tag trio—Ash is preoccupied with his own frustration but not so much as to not notice Sing’s own peeved air and Blanca’s contrasting calm, the latter of which only serving to heighten his anger.  
  
He complies in furious silence as Blanca helps him to what must be the doors of the Lees’ estate. Engraved in the middle is an emblem of a dragon, Ash notes, the same dragon tattooed on Yut-Lung’s skin. The mere thought of the man irritates Ash, and now he’s expected to be his cordial guest? If Blanca really wants him to ignore the fact that Yut-Lung has had it out for him and Eiji for the past year, he’s going to be sorely disappointed.   
  
This is all for the future, Ash tells himself. He tries to imagine a reunion with Eiji at the airport and it’s at least enough to take the edge off of his sour mood. Staying at the hospital wasn’t a safe option, and Blanca wasn’t _wrong_ to point out the advantages staying at Yut-Lung’s has. Remove the guy and Ash would really be sitting pretty.  
  
The driver pushes open the doors and Ash, Blanca, and Sing walk in. It seems as soon as the driver leaves and they walk forward, a pack of guards appear from the shadows to block the exit behind them, leaving their only direction onward, straight into the awaiting arms of Yut-Lung.  
  
The Chinese boy gives them a broad smile. His eyes, cool in the low light, scan the faces of each of his guests—though for Ash, “prisoners” certainly feels more accurate. It’s completely possible he’s just paranoid, but Ash thinks he sees a restrained elation pass over Yut-Lung’s expression as his eyes land on him. Immediately, Ash straightens up, pulling himself off of Blanca; he serves well as a sort of support beam but he’s more than uncomfortable with the idea of showing weakness to Yut-Lung.  
  
Two bodyguards, one on either side, flank the youngest Lee. He is dressed in an uncharacteristic dark suit, hair tied to the side with red ribbon. “Do you like your welcoming party?” he teases them.  
  
“It’s real nice of you,” Ash says dryly.  
  
“Isn’t it?” Yut-Lung plays along, walking forward until he is in Ash’s face. “It’s my pleasure, Ash.” Ash glowers down at him, but he meets his gaze without flinching until finally turning away. “Show Ash to his room. I want to talk with Sing privately.”  
  
“I’m assuming it’s okay if I accompany him as well?” Blanca asks. Ash understands it’s in his best interest to have the man tagging along, but he still wants to shake him off, bitter all the same over his decision to bring him here.   
  
Yut-Lung looks back over his shoulder, sparing Blanca an uninterested glance. “It doesn’t matter to me. Come on, Sing,” he then says with more command. Sing obeys while grumbling something under his breath, matching Yut-Lung’s strides as they disappear. Ash doesn’t wonder much about what business they might be discussing, but is instead happy with some reprieve away from their host.  
  
The guards beckon him and Blanca towards a hall to the left. “Ash, I know this isn’t what you had in mind,” Blanca begins.  
  
“Save it,” Ash mutters, focusing on staring at the guard in front of them. He’s not interested in rehashing the conversation they had in the limo, especially not in front of these armed, silent strangers.  
  
It doesn’t take long until they stop at a door. Ash feels uneasy as one of the staff fumbles with a key, but the feeling passes. Getting past a lock is not a problem for Ash. As they walk into the room, he finds another exit—a window. It’s curtains are pulled away to let in moonlight that partially illuminates the rest of the room.  
  
What Ash approximates to be a queen-sized bed rests in the middle of the room, tucked with neat white sheets and a navy blue comforter. Some clothes are neatly folded on top, clearly pulled for Ash’s arrival. There’s also a dresser and a night stand, neither of which he foresees sticking around long enough to use. Another door on the right, which Ash assumes leads to a bathroom.  
  
“Fancier than the hospital,” Ash remarks.  
  
“This is what young master Lee recommended,” a guard says. “A room has been prepared for you as well,” he says to Blanca.  
  
“Go,” Ash says, stepping into the room. “I want to get out of this gown anyway. Maybe take a shower.” Blanca gives him a look of warning—probably as close to concern as he can get. “Can’t I do that on my own?” he goads.  
  
Blanca frowns. “A shower… What about your wounds? I think you should wait until one of the Lees’ doctors looks at them.”  
  
“Doesn’t really matter what you think,” Ash snaps. He realizes a second later he’s being overly callous, but he still can’t bring himself to feel very guilty, all things considered. “I’ll be fine. It’ll only take a minute for them to show you around.”  
  
Blanca lets out a heavy sigh and shrugs, which causes some childish elation of winning a battle to flare in Ash’s chest. When he leaves with the guards, the door is first shut and then locked with a tell-tale click. I’m _definitely_ a prisoner here, Ash thinks.  
  
Not like he can’t escape. His gaze flickers back to the window—no bars cover it. He wonders if this is on purpose, a way for Yut-Lung to taunt him. That’s the problem with Yut-Lung—he gets cocky, likes to show off, and ends up shooting himself right in the foot.  
  
For now, though, Ash doesn’t think his body will hold out long enough to run off after launching himself out that window. He did begrudgingly agree to one night—one night and he could regain some more of his strength. First on the list is taking a shower.  
  
Ash scoops up the clothes left out on the bed and makes his way to the bathroom, flipping on the lights. There’s a toilet, a sink adorned with some glass dolphins, a mirror overlooking it, and a shower with a bath. It’s all very… mild.   
  
He undresses, feeling victorious as he’s finally able to shed the hospital gown. Looking at himself in the mirror, though, immediately arouses discomfort. The reflection staring back at him looks so different than the image of himself he knows. He looks thin, pale, like he might snap in half if he’s under too much pressure. His hair has grown longer as well, he notes—he’s able to gather it into a small ponytail with his hands.  
  
And then the wounds. A pad of gauze covers the gunshot wound—it feels like it’s been there forever, an annoyance more than anything. The new wound, the stab wound, is short and angry, all stitched back together. Ugly, too, but the same can be said for the many scars littering the rest of his body.   
  
Ash turns on the bath faucet and steps in, letting the water run from cold to hot before he turns on the shower. He faces with his back towards the water in an effort to keep his injuries from getting wet, but at this point he’s so desperate to feel clean he can’t find it in himself to care so much.   
  
The soap, shampoo, and conditioner remind him of the samples he’d find in hotel rooms. Though most business was carried out in the private rooms of Club Cod or Golzine’s mansion, sometimes one of the many beautiful hotels littering New York would host some sick man’s fantasy. If he was able, Ash would take the tiny bottles—not because he was at any loss for toiletries, really, it was just an odd impulse.   
  
He tries hard not to think too much longer on it while he washes himself—everything has a slight, inoffensive vanilla fragrance. It’s not unpleasant, and neither is the steady stream of warm water that hits his back and then his scalp as he rinses the shampoo, then the conditioner, out of his hair.  
  
Ash then turns off the water and exits the shower, drying himself off to the best of his abilities with a fluffy white towel, also disconcertingly reminiscent of those luxury hotel rooms. There’s a feeling of being trapped—not physically, not really, because he could feasibly make a break for it, but like something bigger than himself is tying him down. It’s how he always felt “working,” as it was so kindly put. Sometimes he was drugged then, which made his inability to flee more understandable, but sometimes he was completely sober and still unable to get a hold of a clear mind.   
  
Ash might be emotional but he’s also logical. It’s easy to spiral if he isn’t careful, but rationalizing helps to keep him grounded. He was given medication in the hospital, definitely still in his body, which might be making him still feel loopy. Yut-Lung’s place is intimidating as shit, so this weird little polished bathroom sticks out and makes things that much more uncomfortable. It’s also small in here, constricting, and the bedroom isn’t much better, being locked from the outside. So, yes, he has reason to be tense—he has to focus on the current situation, not the memories tied to these feelings.   
  
He’s able to pull on the boxers and sweatpants easily enough by sitting on the closed toilet, but the T-shirt is another problem. The idea of asking some servant, Blanca, or (God forbid) Yut-Lung for help is the only thing that gets him through the pain that courses through his body as he tugs on the shirt. The very motion of lifting his arms up irritates the stab wound.  
  
But the shirt feels nice on his skin. Soft but sturdy cotton. The clothes must be some of Yut-Lung’s—not only do they smell faintly of him but the pants are a bit short as well. The realization makes him feel a little reminiscent—he wishes he was back with his gang right now, hiding out in some shitty apartment, sharing some takeout and, best of all, lounging around in his own clothes.  
  
When Ash reemerges from the bathroom, he’s not surprised but all the same displeased to find Yut-Lung waiting on the bed. He sits on the edge, examining something on the floor before his gaze snaps up to take Ash in.  
  
“What do you want? A duel?” Ash asks, eyes narrowed.  
  
Yut-Lung stands up and shakes his head. “No, I just thought it would be unfortunate if you ended up drowning yourself, so I came to check on you.”  
  
“Yeah, right,” Ash says, unconvinced. “What happened to Sing?”  
  
Yut-Lung’s hand subconsciously goes to his cheek, which Ash notices is slightly rosy, all the more when compared to the boy’s pale, dainty fingers. “He doesn’t want to listen to me right now,” Yut-Lung provides off-handedly.   
  
“I can’t blame him. I don’t understand why he listens to you in the first place, if I’m being honest.”  
  
Yut-Lung stands up, and Ash is surprised to see his words have brought some hurt to his expression. It’s quickly replaced with resentment, however, as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I should’ve drowned you myself.”  
  
“Sorry, did I strike a nerve? Are you having troubles with your little boyfriend?” Ash taunts.  
  
“Shut up,” Yut-Lung huffs. “Mark my words, Ash Lynx, I am going to kill you. Be grateful I want to give you a fighting chance.”  
  
“Oh, I’m _so_ scared,” Ash says, rolling his eyes. “If you were smart, you’d do it now. You know that, don’t you? So, what is it? You have some kind of a death wish? You think I’ll have some change of heart and feel all sad about slitting your throat?”  
  
“Is it so impressive to take you down when you aren’t even well enough to fight back?” Yut-Lung sniffs. “I could just tip off the police and order a hit on you when they put you in prison.”  
  
The police. Ash looks away now, his mind suddenly wandering. He’d spoken with Charlie and Jenkins in the hospital, but it hadn’t been about any of the number of crimes Ash had committed in his life. Not truly. They’d told him they were trying to get him a deal—if he’d testify against Club Cod and its complex web of clients and patrons. Max had probably tipped them off with that big mouth of his, or the two buffoons finally connected the dots between Ash and Club Cod on their own.  
  
After all, the first time he’d become involved with them was when he was fourteen, posing as bait for some criminal. The next time they’d met was when he was fifteen, when video of himself being raped by some men surfaced. They’d recognized his face and found him again—but he wouldn’t talk. Couldn’t talk. Not without risking his life—Golzine was far too smart to let something like that go.  
  
He would always remember what Jenkins said to him during that investigation. He’d been uncooperative for hours upon hours, expertly dodging each and every angle to get him to open up, when—  
  
“Think of all the other kids. Don’t you want to help them?”  
  
He’d blown up. “Isn’t that _your_ job? It’s not my fucking fault you’re all so lazy and incompetent. “Help them.” Christ. Why is that on _me_?” When he was eventually released, he’d overheard some officers talking about Golzine’s charitable offerings to the homeless youth like him that roamed the streets. How kind it was for such a man to give these children a second chance at life. He knew then he’d made the right decision—he’d known for a long time how the world worked, how the powerful could craft benevolent masks, no one would call them into question and if they did, it would be subdued with a snap. Ash learned this with Bluebeard—it was all reinforced with Golzine.  
  
Ash shakes his head, trying desperately to clear his head from such thoughts. He finally looks back at Yut-Lung, his gaze hard. “So, what, I’m your white whale?”  
  
“I almost forgot you were literate,” Yut-Lung says with a malevolent smile.  
  
The door then opens—Ash figures Yut-Lung must have left it unlocked. Blanca stands in the doorway, giving Yut-Lung an unabashedly scary look. “Fine, fine,” he says, holding his hands up and shaking his head. “We were just having a conversation, but fine, I get it. I’ll see you later,” Yut-Lung says as he pushes his way past Blanca, retreating with all the grandeur of someone’s lost Chihuahua.   
  
Blanca watches as Yut-Lung leaves, then steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. “What was it that you’d told me? “I’ll be fine?” Did I hear you wrong?”  
  
“I _am_ fine. Was I supposed to just magically predict Yut-Lung would break in here and start bitching at me?”   
  
Blanca doesn’t spare him a laugh, although his lips do twitch up in amusement. “His bark is worse than his bite.”  
  
Ash sighs. Blanca and Yut-Lung’s relationship really is a mystery to him; when would Blanca have experienced this “bite” of his, anyway? Does he really want to know? Probably not.  
  
He looks out through the window again, pretending to admire the moon. He also notices there is a garden as well, full of flowers. It’s unruly and wild, a far cry from Golzine’s organized greenhouse. Maybe the mess could hide him so he’d have some more time to escape under secrecy—then he wouldn’t have to rush. Instead, he could be quiet, move slowly, just keep his wits about him and he’d be fine…  
  
“I know what you’re thinking,” Blanca says, interrupting Ash’s thoughts. “You must be terrible at poker.”  
  
“Play me and find out.”  
  
“Ash, where will you go if you escape? Be serious here.” Ash finally looks away from the window and meets Blanca’s gaze. He flinches unwittingly. “Max and Jessica’s? Do you even know where they live? How will you find them? And when you do…”  
  
“I didn’t say anything about them,” Ash hisses.  
  
“Suppose you find where Max and Jessica and their lovely little munchkin are and you join them because you know they’d take you in no matter what... Where does that leave you? Just a strain on them. A little leech.” Ash knows everything Blanca is saying is right, and it hurts. “They can’t harbor a fugitive. They have a child. A wedding coming up. You can’t make them risk their lives just for you.”  
  
Max and Jessica have done so much for Ash. Not just now when he’s been down and out, but they’ve lent their support all throughout the run of his struggle against Golzine and the banana fish project. Max, especially, he owes so much too. He’s known in his heart he can’t expect them to continue to sacrifice in Ash’s name; Blanca, dangerously perceptive, hitting the nail on the head just brought it all to the surface.  
  
“I know,” Ash admits. “Trust me, I know.”  
  
Blanca looks at him for a few moments, as if he’s waiting for Ash to retract this admission, or perhaps fight against him. But he remains quiet. “We won’t stay here long enough for Yut-Lung to give you any trouble.”  
  
“I still can’t believe you,” Ash says indignantly. “All that talk about wanting to help me and this is what you meant.”  
  
Blanca sighs, averting his gaze away from Ash. “I’m not doing this to please you, Ash. I’m doing this to give you another shot. Even if you don’t like how I’m getting you there… You can be mad at me all you want. I’m not looking for gratitude.”  
  
“Good, because you sure as shit aren’t getting any.”  
  
“Yut-Lung is callous, but you aren’t so different from one another. He knows this. He’s inclined to help you too, in his own ways,” Blanca manages.  
  
Ash actually laughs at this. “In his own ways? The kid just told me he was going to kill me, Blanca. I don’t think he even _has_ a good side, but if he does, you’ve fallen way too into it. Yut-Lung is a monster among men.”  
  
“Isn’t that what they call you?” Blanca asks with a raised brow. A knock at the door distracts the two for a moment. “Must be one of Yut-Lung’s private doctors. I’ll leave you now. I’m just down the hall.”

* * *

  
In spite of the rough and tumble night, the doctors that visit Ash assure him that his wounds look good and he’s on track for a full recovery. He won’t escape without any scars, but it’s not something that worries him. In fact, he welcomes the idea—just another scar to add to the collection, more proof that he is stronger than his injuries, stronger than those who try to snuff the life out of him.   
  
The encounter with Yut-Lung was annoying, but he hasn’t returned since. Ash imagines him passing the time with a bottle of red wine in his bed, chattering to some poor servant girl who’s completely powerless to exit the conversation.    
  
Still, something about their conversation earlier continues to bother him—Yut-Lung had said he wanted to kill Ash himself. Standard enough. But then he spoke about fighting Ash when he was strong enough to put up a fair fight. Yut-Lung wanted—no, he definitely felt he needed—to be the one to kill Ash. So why had it been  _ Lao _ that caught him outside of the library?   
  
Surely, Yut-Lung had sent Lao himself. He really wasn’t one to get his hands dirty, but then… He’d made it so clear Ash was an exception.    
  
Was Lao taking matters into his own hands, avenging Shorter because Sing refused? Thinking about it only leads Ash to go back to his original assumption, that Yut-Lung ordered Lao to kill him, and then he circles right back around, accomplishing nothing but keeping himself awake.   
  
Morning light begins to filter into Ash’s bedroom and he hasn’t slept a wink. He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to puzzle together Yut-Lung and Lao and Sing when he hears someone struggling with a doorknob.   
  
He glances over to the door that leads out into the hall. The doctors had locked him in when they left earlier. The doorknob fidgets, stuck in place, and then stops. Ash watches curiously as someone unlocks the door and finally opens it up.   
  
He expects to see a doctor pop in again, or maybe even a servant with some tea, but instead he sees Sing. Ash sits up with a grunt, giving Sing an odd look.   
  
“What are you doing here?” he asks.   
  
Sing shrugs. He invites himself on the bed, sitting on the edge of the foot of the bed, carefully avoiding Ash’s quizzical gaze. “I stayed the night,” he says.   
  
“No, I meant  _ here _ ,” Ash says, gesturing to the room. “How’d you get a key?”   
  
“Yut-Lung gave me one,” Sing says. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t think you’d be awake.”   
  
“Well, I am,” Ash says. “What is it with you and Yut-Lung, anyways?”   
  
Sing shakes his head, immediately irritated at the mention of Yut-Lung. “He’s such a brat. I can’t do anything right in his eyes. I thought maybe…” Sing pauses to scratch the back of his neck. “I thought maybe he trusted me enough to give it to me straight, but…”   
  
“I don’t get anything you’re saying.”   
  
Sing sighs and looks over at Ash. “Guess you wouldn’t. It’s just… I think he has something to do with Lao.”   
  
Ash blinks in surprise. “You do?” He feels validated in having his suspicions echoed by Sing.   
  
“Yeah. I don’t know,” he adds. “Lao was stupid but… He wasn’t so stupid that he’d just, go after you. That’s next-level stupid. But he still…”   
  
“He still got me,” Ash finishes. “Got me good.”   
  
“Yeah. Why? Why’d you let him?”   
  
Ash’s brows furrow as he thinks. “I don’t really know, honestly.” He was engrossed in Eiji’s letter (still lost, he remembers with a pang in his heart) and walking down the street when it happened. But he’s incredibly sensitive to his surroundings, even when doing other tasks. He’s been trained to be cautious at all times, to perfect putting up a casual front while taking in everything.    
  
Did he see Lao? Yes. Yes, he did. He’d looked up from the letter and saw him—and he thought, this is strange, and then he looked away. Back down to Eiji’s letter. He was looking at the plane ticket and everything seemed to melt into the background, nothing existed between him and the airport, he had to get there…   
  
And he was tired. So tired. Because he knew he would go to that airport and he would see Eiji, frail but still smiling his broadest, and he would have to let him go. He was a dead man. He had no passport. No identification. No papers. And he would have to watch Eiji leave without him. This was something he knew, and even as he ran, he felt tired, worn down. Burdened.   
  
And then came the knife. And then came the gun tucked into his waistband. Always tucked away for danger. No guns in Japan—no guns to hurt Eiji, none to save him either. Everything after that felt like he was living somebody else’s life, all fuzzy and unfamiliar.   
  
“I killed him,” Ash admits slowly. He looks over at Sing, immediately sees the pain that takes over him. Ash understands this pain—he felt it when Skip was killed, then again with Griffin, and then Shorter. And finally, with Eiji, though he was never a dead man.   
  
“I know,” Sing says.    
  
“You want to take it out on me?” Ash asks. “I get it.”   
  
“No…” Sing shakes his head. “I’m just… I’m just tired, Ash. I’m tired of fighting everyone. It’s exhausting. Sometimes it’s best to let the dead be dead.”   
  
Ash looks away from Sing. It hurts to hear something so solemn and profound come out of his mouth, so often unruly and unapologetic about it. Sometimes Sing reminds him so much of himself, and he always ends up taking it out on him. He wants to apologize, but he knows Sing would take it the wrong way, take it as him apologizing for killing his brother, so he just keeps his mouth shut.    
  
“You didn’t let me die,” Sing adds. “When… I had that metal suitcase. You knew what was in it.”   
  
Ash nods. He remembers making that decision. It was the most important decision of his life. Maybe the reason Lao was able to stab him was because his mind and body knew that he’d surrendered his purpose. And maybe he has control of his own purpose, his own fate, and choosing to save Sing was one way to reclaim that.    
  
He doesn’t regret it.   
  
“I’ve learned that lives are more important than revenge,” Ash says.    
  
“Revenge? What about justice?” Sing probes.   
  
“Justice, revenge, whatever. I won’t lie to you. I want to give every person involved in banana fish hell for what they did. But what would be the point if I ended up losing you to do that?” Ash asks, shaking his head.    
  
“You really care about me that much?”   
  
“No. Not really,” Ash says bluntly. “I just think you’re a good kid.”   
  
“Not a kid.”   
  
Ash snorts. “Yeah, sorry, not a kid. It’s better the world doesn’t find out about banana fish. No matter what, people would start trying to make copycats. That suitcase would get into the wrong hands eventually.”   
  
“You don’t really think that, do you?” Sing asks. “You’re just tryin’ not to be such a softie.”   
  
“I believe it,” Ash retorts defensively. “But… Lives are more important. Your life and mine.”   
  
They sit in silence for a few moments before Sing finally stands up. “Thanks for that, Ash. Don’t go putting your own life on the line, or else I’ll know you’re bullshitting me.” He lingers at the door, looking back over his shoulder to give Ash a cheeky grin.   
  
Ash thinks about Yut-Lung and his declaration. Blanca said they were alike, but Ash thinks he’s grown out of such a comparison. He doesn’t want to entertain Yut-Lung’s destructiveness, not only because of Sing but because of all of the relationships he’s forged.    
  
He was telling the truth to Sing. He forfeited his right to justice because he knew it was a path that would be taken alone. In the past year, he has grown so much with so many other people, and selfishly, he doesn’t want to give any of that up.    
  
“I won’t,” he promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually really love yut-lung, he and eiji are tied for my favorite character in bf ... I Just Think He's Neat :)
> 
> ive been reading the manga now and yut-lung having a bracelet instead of a tattoo is so LAME... but like whatever. i also realized while writing this that ill still be working on this when school starts and im... not ready for that lol


	7. Homeward Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anybody else love that movie. i would like to believe that the animal actors were all pals

Eiji sits across from Max and Jessica at their dining table. Keiko sits to one side, Michael to the other. Dinner is takeout. Everyone is silent. He’s back in America and he doesn’t know where to begin.  
  
Eiji knew the moment he got off Facetime with Ash that he couldn’t stay in Japan. Even if Ash was making a steady recovery, he couldn’t not be by his side. Eiji was worried. Is worried. He knows very well the unsavory types that might put all that progress to a halt, the sort that would take their chances if it meant seeing Ash fall flat on his face. So many people want him dead. Powerful people.  
  
What difference does it make if Eiji is there to face the brunt of it with him? He can’t quite say, especially now that he’s actually in New York, but in Izumo he couldn’t bear that weight. The knowledge of Ash recovering all on his own was just too much. Besides, they had unfinished business—confessions of love and no plans for the future. With Ash Lynx, it’s hard to even secure a future in the first place, much less one where there is a happy ending.  
  
And there is nothing Eiji wants more in his life right now than a happy ending for Ash. It doesn’t have to be with him. Eiji still remembers that stinging pain he felt when he realized Ash wasn’t coming to the airport, that bitter resentment when he came to understand that he was just a bird Ash was setting free, but over time he has begun to make peace with it. Eiji would have done the same for him if their situations were reversed. He promised himself that when he got to America, if Ash told him to go back to Izumo, he would, no questions asked. No matter how much it hurt to do so.  
  
The morning after his call with Ash, Eiji had started to get his finances together. He had enough for a plane ticket and not much else. He considered calling Ibe to ask for some help but he already knew the answer he would get— _no fucking way_. Firsthand to it all, Ibe would not be keen on sending Eiji back to America at all.  
  
So, he’d purchased his plane ticket figuring he didn’t have much to lose. He called Max to ask if he could stay with him—Max declined at first, explaining to Eiji (just like everyone else, it seemed) that he was still too weak to be flying straight back to New York, that he should rest and get his emotions together before making that decision.  
  
It was embarrassing to explain how he’d already bought a ticket, and how he didn’t have any money for a hotel stay longer than a couple of nights. He’d declared—very loudly because he was sick and tired of being treated like an impulsive child—that if he wasn’t going to stay with Max, he would find somewhere else, maybe with Sing. That shut Max up quickly and he told Eiji he’d talk it over with Jessica. Evidently, they came to an agreement and Eiji had secured a place to stay. He felt guilty about it, but he would do his best not to be a burden.  
  
He had begun to pack the very suitcases he’d just unpacked a couple weeks before, thinking he was being sneaky. His flight left in the early morning, so he figured he’d slip out of the house after leaving a note and allow his family to yell at him about it over the phone once he landed.  
  
But then, Keiko walked in. She took one glance at the clothes scattered around his room and her face fell. He never had seen her look so crushed.  
  
“ _This is something I have to do,_ ” he had said.  
  
“ _I know,_ ” she agreed. She walked over to him, kicking aside a crumpled up tank top to sit next to him. She rested her head on top of his shoulder and sighed. It had been so long since he’d been a recipient of Keiko’s bouts of affection, and all at once he began to doubt himself—she was his family, this was his home, this was where he was supposed to belong. And yet, he couldn’t belong comfortably, not with the knowledge of his best friend (boyfriend, something, everything) injured halfway across the world. “ _I just don’t understand why you did not ask us for help. Why is this something you think you have to do alone?_ ”  
  
Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. “ _I don’t mean to make you cry. I know you all would rather me stay here. That’s why I didn’t ask for help,_ ” Eiji murmured.  
  
“ _Stupid. I’m crying_ for _you. Seeing you like this has been terrible for me,_ ” she said. “ _It’s been terrible for all of us. I heard you on the phone with that boy. You sounded very happy. Niisan, don’t you understand I want you to be happy? We_ all _want you to be happy._ ”  
  
Her words brought such an obvious realization to him. Sure, his family was overprotective, but it had always been out of love. He gave them reasons to be overprotective. He’d felt they were pitying him, walking on eggshells around him, waiting for the day where something would break inside him and he would end up dead. Feeling Keiko shake against him as she cried, Eiji realized this moment—finding him packing haphazardly like some madman—was, in her eyes, the moment he’d broken. He would not be dead, but disappearing without a word, which was frightening and painful in and of itself, for certain.  
  
“ _I’m sorry,_ ” he said, and he meant it. He wouldn’t tell it aloud to his sister, but he’d believed so heavily that his family were all trying to trap him in this home for their own comfort. He wondered if he had simply spoken up, would he have felt more free? Could they have come to an understanding? “ _I am doing this, though. I will go back to America. But we can talk about it._ ”  
  
And they did. Eiji and Keiko woke up their parents and sat them down. _Always so stubborn, our Eiji._ That was what they had said. They were afraid for Eiji, of course, afraid he would come back with another bullet in him or worse, but they seemed to understand immediately that there was no changing his mind.  
  
“ _Take your sister, please._ ” Eiji knew his mother would have preferred to accompany him herself, but she couldn’t abandon her sickly husband, Eiji and Keiko’s father. Keiko had seemed shocked by this request, and looked over at Eiji with wide eyes, waiting for his rejection. But he did not turn it down. He simply nodded—this was a compromise. He knew they would never rest easy without a pair of eyes on him. He wouldn’t subject them to the pain of losing him once again but this time without someone like Ibe to send reports back.  
  
He felt guilty for dragging his baby sister back to New York, but he tried to rationalize—nobody in his family had any clue about his connections to gangs or to the mafia. They had no idea about banana fish. No reason to believe this trip would be anything out of the ordinary, especially when Eiji told them they would be staying with Ibe’s nice American reporter friend (Max was very surprised at Eiji’s plus-one but told him they would make it work). In any case, Eiji would not give them a reason to worry. If danger arose, Eiji promised himself that he was going to do everything in his power to keep Keiko safe and ignorant to the background of their trip.  
  
On the flight to New York, Keiko asked Eiji what felt like a million questions. Who was the boy on his phone? Could she see the pictures he took on his first trip? What was America like? Did Eiji like America? Would Max like her? Would the boy on his phone like her?  
  
However, he’d peppered in his own questions throughout the excruciatingly long duration of the flight. How were her grades? (Not bad, but not the top of her class.) Was she still playing volleyball? (Yes—she’d become very good at it, as well.) How was her best friend? (Chiaki was doing well but they’d recently had a spat.) Did she have a boyfriend? (No—their parents would kill her. Also, all the boys in her class were idiots.) Did she become the favorite child while he was away? (She’d _always_ been the favorite child, duh, and then Eiji had laughed in her face.)  
  
When they landed in America, they were both exhausted, but it felt like the rift that had been growing between them had finally started to mend.  
  
Now, though, Eiji feels like valleys are separating him from everyone at the dinner table. Really, calling it a dining table is a little generous. It’s nothing like the dining table in Ash’s luxury apartment, carved from beautiful warm wood and long enough to fit a good chunk of the guys from the gang around it. It’s more like a short square, a little bit wobbly and unfinished. Clearly, it was not made for parties much bigger than this.  
  
“How was the flight?” Max finally asks. Jessica seems very intent on some noodles. Michael is noisily going to town on some chicken dish.  
  
“It was very long,” Eiji says. Then he looks to Keiko. She hasn’t eaten much, probably too caught up in the stress of being in a new environment with a whole family of strangers she’s never met before.  
  
“Oh… Ah… It was good,” Keiko says, nodding her head for good measure.  
  
Michael looks over at the two Okumuras as he takes in their respective answers. “Where did you fly from? Why didn’t you just drive? Me and Mommy drove here to Daddy. But it took a really long time,” he chatters.  
  
Keiko glances over at Eiji, a bit lost and a bit panicked. He can’t really blame her; no matter how well she’s done in English courses back home, she’s never been taught how to understand the odd babble of a younger child.  
  
“Eiji and Keiko are from Japan,” Jessica answers for them. “It’s an island, and very, very far away, sweetpea.”  
  
“More far than Los Angeles?” he asks with wide eyes.  
  
“Much farther than Los Angeles,” she agrees.  
  
They end up back in their silence, only interrupted by Michael piping up to make some comment or another. Eiji doesn’t remember much of Michael from when he first met him, but he’d pegged him as a shy kid—now, though, he isn’t quite sure about that. With Max and Jessica, some of the most loud people he’s encountered, for parents, it makes sense for Michael to be talkative. Or maybe he isn’t giving the kid enough credit, and he’s able to tell how awkward everyone at the table feels and is trying to combat it.  
  
Eventually, though, Jessica clears her throat and gives Max a pointed look before excusing herself and Michael from the table. “Time for bed,” she tells him.  
  
“But Mommy, Eiji and his sister just got here!” he whines.  
  
“Doesn’t work like that, bud. It’s already past your bedtime. Come on,” she says, pulling Michael’s chair out and offering him her hand. He takes it and slides out of his chair, going through the extra effort of stomping and sulking as they leave.  
  
“Your son is nice,” Keiko says to Max.  
  
He smiles in response, but he doesn’t beam like Eiji had anticipated. He still seems tense and guarded. Maybe they really are imposing and Max doesn’t appreciate it. Eiji hopes he’s just overreacting; it’s possible he’s just tired. “Thank you. Hey, how about I show you guys where you’ll be sleeping?”  
  
It’s really not much—spare pillows and blankets are divided up between a sofa and the floor. “ _You can have the sofa,_ ” he tells Keiko, and she looks at him like he’s crazy.  
  
“ _You want to sleep on the floor? With your injury? Are you stupid?_ ” He expected her to argue with his proposal to be polite, but he frowns and considers this point.  
  
“You already saw the bathroom when you came in. Um… Me and Jessica’s bedroom is over there,” Max gestures with his thumb, “so if you need anything, just knock.” He picks up a remote that rests on the arm of the sofa and starts to press some buttons as he explains how it works, mostly with vague terms such as “press this and this happens” or “don’t press these, press this” and so on and so forth.  
  
“Right, well, hope you two find everything okay, and I’ll see you in the morning, right?” Max says with a grin.  
  
“Before you go,” Eiji says. He wonders if it’s just his imagination or if Max really deflates at his words. “When can I see Ash?”  
  
“Um… Eiji, maybe you should settle in first. You just got off your flight and you said it’s your sister’s first time to New York, right? Maybe you could show her around, go take a ferry or something, maybe get some ice cream and make a day out of it?” he suggests hurriedly.  
  
“Max,” Eiji says firmly. For such a big man, he is doing his best to look small and invisible, he thinks to himself. “We haven’t spoken about Ash once since you picked us up from the airport. What is happening?” He doesn’t want to consider the worst possible scenario and yet there it is, right in the forefront of his mind, making his stomach lurch—Ash in the hospital, slowly losing the fight to a sudden infection, all alone where Eiji will never reach him. “Is he okay? Is something wrong?”  
  
Keiko glances between her brother and Max, looking concerned. Eiji pushes past her, and looks Max dead in the eyes. He is definitely hiding something, and he looks guilty about it.  
  
“Eiji, I don’t…” Max sighs. “I don’t think… Um, okay, well, shoot. I’m sure Ash is okay—”  
  
“— _You’re sure?!_ What does that mean? Just say he is okay, what does that mean, Max—”  
  
“—but, well, I wanted to wait until morning to tell you, but… Ash is gone,” Max sighs. For a moment, the world gives out from under Eiji. His stomach is doing flips and he feels like he’s falling. How can Ash be _gone_?  
  
“No,” Eiji breathes.  
  
“Oh, shit, not… Not that way!” Max says hurriedly. “Not what you’re thinking.” Eiji’s gaze snaps back up to Max’s face and whatever type of fury that reaches him makes Max swallow hard. “I mean, literally, he isn’t at the hospital. He’s not there anymore.”  
  
“You… _lost_ him?” Eiji asks, mouth agape.  
  
“I mean, _I_ didn’t lose him. I wasn’t with him when it happened.” Max’s expression suddenly becomes dark, solemn. “I should’ve been with him. I’m sorry, Eiji.”  
  
“It’s… It’s okay, Max,” he says, although it definitely does not feel okay. So many times he has been on a wild goose chase to find Ash. He feels frustrated and, more than anything, scared to go through it all again, being in this strange city trying to find where he might be hiding. And God knows he’d _better_ be hiding. Eiji has heard that Golzine is dead, but what if his men are still hunting Ash? He doesn’t want to think about it, so he decides then and there Ash is hiding somewhere, waiting for Eiji to find him. “There was nothing you could do.”  
  
“Yeah…” Max says, but he doesn’t seem to be in complete agreement. “I’m sorry,” he says again, shaking his head. “I know how much he means to you.”  
  
Eiji brings his hand to rub the bridge of his nose as he tries to rid his head of the thoughts that are beginning to become louder and louder. Thoughts he doesn’t want to entertain, like finding Ash dead, or worse—discovering a dose of banana fish _did_ make it out, and then finding him like Shorter. “He will show up somewhere,” Eiji declares stubbornly. “He will call and tell me to meet him somewhere, I know it. He’s just hiding.”  
  
“He never liked hospitals,” Max agrees. He seems to match Eiji in his need to believe Ash is okay. “Just… Get some rest and we can figure things out in the morning.” Max backs away, looking past Eiji before he turns. He sees Keiko, looking like a fish out of water, clearly puzzling over their discussion. “Um. Sorry about that, Keiko.” She looks up at the sound of her name and shakes her head.  
  
“It is okay!” she says eagerly. “Good night!”  
  
“Right. Good night,” Max says. “Get some sleep,” he says to Eiji. It sounds like a warning, like how a father might speak to a child after finding a DS under their pillow.  
  
“I will,” Eiji says. He watches Max go to his room, hears the squeak of the door as it opens and closes. The conversation has left him feeling exhausted, even more than how the flight left him.  
  
Eiji and Keiko then busy themselves with bedtime routines, including swapping their clothes for pajamas (Keiko examines Eiji’s bullet wound with all the scrutiny of a professional before leaving him alone), brushing their teeth, and washing up as best they can (Keiko is unwilling to share anything from her array of skincare with Eiji so he settles for hand soap and a prayer).  
  
Finally, they get settled into their makeshift sleeping arrangements. Eiji is grateful that Keiko talked him out of taking the floor, though the sofa is a bit short and he has to curl up a bit to properly fit. He closes his eyes and tries to sleep, but he can’t invite it so easily—he keeps wondering where Ash is, if he’s safe, if he’s clean, if he’s being fed, if he’s happy. Eiji wonders if maybe he’s wandered back over to one of his hideouts, or maybe the apartment on 59th Street. He tries to formulate the best route to check every place he knows. He could also try to find Alex—that’s who would be controlling the gang since Ash is MIA, and if Eiji is lucky, he might have had contact with Ash recently.  
  
“ _You’re here for Ash?_ ” Keiko’s small voice comes from the floor. When Eiji looks down, he sees she’s managed to burrito herself, using each blanket provided as layers. She looks incredibly comfortable, but then again, sleep seems to be evading her as well.  
  
“ _Yes,_ ” Eiji says.

“ _The same Ash you showed me on the airplane?_ ” she asks.  
  
“ _Yes._ ”  
  
“ _You flew halfway across the world for… A boy?_ ”  
  
Eiji laughs, and it feels nice to do so, even if he’s simultaneously worrying himself sick over this _boy’s_ wellbeing. “ _Yes, I did._ ”  
  
“ _He’s very lucky,_ ” Keiko says, “ _to have someone who will do that._ ”  
  
“ _He would do the same for me,_ ” Eiji says, and he knows it’s true.  
  
“ _Why didn’t he?_ ” Keiko asks. It’s an innocent question, he can tell she means no harm, but it stings nonetheless.  
  
“ _I told you, he got injured very badly. Did you hear what me and Max were talking about?_ ” he adds.  
  
“ _A bit,_ ” she says. “ _Max talks in an odd way. Like his mouth is full. His English is hard to understand. But you were talking about Ash, right?_ ”  
  
“ _Yes. He’s gone missing,_ ” Eiji says, wincing.  
  
“ _And you’re going to find him?_ ”  
  
“ _Of course._ ”  
  
Keiko pauses, looking thoughtful. “ _What happens when you find him?_ ” she asks.  
  
“ _I’ll tell him how much of an idiot he is for getting lost in the first place._ ”  
  
“ _And after that? What happens then?_ ” Keiko presses.  
  
Eiji swallows. He doesn’t know what happens next, not really. “ _I will take him home,_ ” he says quietly. “ _I will tell him he can come back with us to Japan._ ”  
  
She looks shocked at this, but it is only momentarily. Eiji commends the way she recovers so quickly; she must think he’s insane. She has no idea of the dangers Ash faces here, for one, and no clue why Eiji would whisk some American boy all the way back to Japan. “ _What if he says no?_ ” she asks.  
  
“ _Then…_ ” Eiji becomes silent. What if? Maybe he will stay in America… Or maybe he will go home. Maybe he will finally be able to admit that they _are_ too different, that no matter how special Ash is to him, he has no claim over him or his life and that means knowing when to let go. He will let go. “ _I don’t know,_ ” he says instead, because he does not want to entertain a world in which he leaves Ash behind for good.  
  
“ _Okay,_ ” Keiko says. “ _I’m sorry. You seem upset._ ”  
  
“ _No, I’m not… I know this is all ridiculous to you, but I need to be here right now. I need to see him. Even if it’s for the last time._ ”  
  
Keiko is quiet again. She rolls onto her back in her blanket cocoon, looking up at Eiji. “ _Are you in love, niisan?_ ”  
  
The brazen question takes him aback. “ _Why are you asking me that?_ ” he shoots back, trying not to be so defensive.  
  
“ _You talk about him like he’s the sun or something! And I saw your photos, Eiji. You have so many of him. And then you and Max fought and all you were talking about was him and then you go ahead and say you want him to come home with us? I am making a very logical conclusion here,_ ” she points out.  
  
Eiji blushes. He really did think he was being subtle when he’d probably been blathering on about his crush like a schoolgirl. “ _What if I am?_ ” he asks her. He does not deliver the question in a snarky tone—instead, he plainly asks.  
  
“ _Then I would say you need to be careful,_ ” Keiko warns. “ _You lead with your heart… Many people will take advantage of that._ ”  
  
As if he doesn’t already know that. But he can’t tell Keiko about how his trust has been broken time and time again without bringing to light the danger he’s been in, so instead he seethes quietly. The implication that Ash of all people would be one of the people to manipulate angers and hurts him. Logically, he knows Keiko is right, and she doesn’t know anything about Ash except that he gets into trouble that lands him in the hospital. It is a worthy evaluation, especially from a little sister who just wants to make sure her big brother is safe. But it still infuriates him. “ _I know Ash. You don’t. He is not someone I need to be careful around. Don’t act like you know better than me about this,_ ” he snaps.  
  
“ _Alright,_ ” Keiko relents. “ _I just know how you can be. That’s all._ ”  
  
“ _I’ve changed, Keiko,_ ” he says. He wants so badly to explain himself, to let out the anxieties and pain he’s felt throughout his time in America, to go into the good and the bad and the even worse, but he can only manage these three words for her.  
  
“ _I know you have,_ ” she says sadly. She’s silent for a few beats before she speaks again. “ _Remember before you left when I said I wasn’t going to miss you? I lied. I’ve missed you so much, niisan._ ”  
  
“ _I know,_ ” Eiji says. “ _I’ve missed you too._ ”  
  
“ _Being an only child sucks,_ ” she huffs. “ _Having no one else around was making me go crazy! Seriously!_ ” she adds as he begins to laugh. “ _I just want to have you back, that’s all. I just want to feel like I know you again._ ”  
  
“ _I know. I do._ ” He feels the same way about her. He came back from America and suddenly Keiko was acting mature, taking things into her own hands, watching over him when that had always been his job. “ _I’m sorry._ ”  
  
“ _It’s okay. It really is,_ ” she says when she sees Eiji give her a look of doubt. “ _And for the record, I don’t care who you fall in love with. I mean, I do, please don’t bring home someone who is really snobby and rude and mean and_ — _actually, that’s not important. I mean, it’s okay with me if you’re gay,_ ” she rambles. “ _Are you?_ ” she asks. “ _It’s_ — _It’s okay if you don’t answer!_ ” she adds hurriedly.  
  
Eiji snorts. “ _It’s fine. Yes, I’m gay._ ”  
  
“ _I knew it… You always liked those sports magazines…_ ” _  
__  
_“ _What does that even mean?_ ” he scoffs.  
  
“ _All those sweaty, muscley men!_ ”  
  
“ _There were women, too!_ ” Eiji points out quickly. “ _Why are we even talking about this? What does that even prove? I was an athlete! It makes perfect sense to keep up with sports!_ ”  
  
Keiko giggles. “ _I’m just teasing you. Stupid._ ”  
  
He would hit her if she weren’t on the floor. “ _So you_ can _still be annoying. Got it._ ”  
  
“ _And you still love me,_ ” she says cheekily. “ _You know, I think you should be giving me some credit here… I gave you that love charm and you found a pretty American boy!_ ” she gloats.  
  
“ _What do you want me to do? Or are you just going to hold that over my head for the rest of my life?_ ” he grumbles.  
  
“ _Mhm… I think I’ll cash some favors in later. Go to sleep, niisan,_ ” she says. “ _You have to go find your boyfriend. If he sees your dark under eye bags, he’s going to leave you!_ ”  
  
“ _One charm and you think you’re an expert now, is that it?_ ”  
  
“ _Yes! Thank you for your recognition,_ ” she says. “ _Now I will be asleep before you can take it back. Good night._ ”  
  
Eiji sighs. Sure enough, Keiko has turned onto her side and has shut her eyes tight. He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. Back in America and he doesn’t know where to begin. At least he knows someway, somehow, this ending will involve Ash. And maybe that’s comforting enough of a thought to fall asleep to. “ _Good night._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my outline eijis family doesnt support him going back to america and i still think thats probably more realistic but i just Could Not bring myself to do that. ): i know canonically eijis homelife is kinda rough but like...I Do Not See It. his father is sick but not like terribly, terribly sick and his mom isnt a cheater or whatever. bc i said so. thats all
> 
> also this week i thought of another idea for a multichapter bf fic and like... um... lol what if.


	8. Tea Break

It’s barely been two days with Yut-Lung and Sing is ready to sacrifice his first born for some repose.    
  
It’s not like the place isn’t beautiful. Or comfortable—it is  _ really  _ comfortable, Sing has to admit. If it weren’t for the whole Ash situation, he’d probably be more content with the luxurious offerings.   
  
Speaking of, Ash has been mostly quiet ever since Sing spoke with him that early morning. It had been strange but comforting to let his guard down and have such an honest conversation with the guy, but every other encounter he had with Ash in that room has been brief. Sing suspects, like anybody in their right mind, that he’s going to leave sometime in the middle of the night, but for the time being he’s remained still, alone in the bedroom, aside from the times where Sing or Blanca keep him company.   
  
Ash had asked Sing to let his gang know that he’s alive and well, which was a rather simple task. In spite of the tension that has been growing between their two gangs ever since Shorter’s death, Ash’s boys seemed to recognize Sing as an ally still. He’d relayed to Alex only the specifics Ash had deemed necessary—that he’d been injured and that he was in hiding—and was sent on his way. To his own gang, Sing officially declared the rivalry between himself and Ash dead.    
  
As far as he can tell, the reception was okay. But still, he has his doubts. Shorter’s death is still so fresh in everyone’s minds, including Sing’s. He still isn’t very sure he has what it takes to be a leader, but it’s the position he was thrust into—he can’t outwardly show his uncertainty without risking some heat. And if there’s one thing he’s learned from Shorter, it’s that you have to keep people in line, or else there won’t be any unity.   
  
Ash does the same, but he’s still nothing like Shorter. Shorter knew when to be serious but Ash can be downright cruel. Sing’s heard plenty of horror stories about him, ones he once doubted because of his pretty face, but had quickly come to understand as true. Being unassuming is clearly one of Ash’s strengths in that regard, but during his stay at the Lee estate, he’s been rather docile. Mouthy and gloomy, for sure, but reserved.   
  
Blanca, on the other hand, is the same as ever. Sing is still vaguely intimidated by him, and he still can't get a very good read on him. Sing has noticed he’s been keeping a close eye on Ash, staying true to his promise, even going so far as to bring him all his meals. Sing likes meal time because that means hanging around the hallway occupied by both Ash and Blanca’s rooms and getting bits and pieces of conversation. Often just Ash using Blanca as a verbal punching bag, which Sing finds pretty funny. But sometimes they just talk about boring things like literature, which he’ll start to tune out.   
  
And that leaves Yut-Lung. Yut-Lung is, well, a piece of work.   
  
Sing spends most of his time at the estate with Yut-Lung. The boy seems to like his presence, in some sort of masochistic way. Everyone around him seems to worship the ground he walks on, probably because they are paid to do so, but not Sing. He finds many aspects of Yut-Lung irritating beyond belief and he isn’t afraid to say so.   
  
It’s been a while since Sing first met Yut-Lung, but he remembers those first encounters strikingly well. Yut-Lung had been cool and collected while also giving off an air of elegance, not to mention a strong impression of control. He remembers the helicopter ride with Yut-Lung, how he knew he was supposed to be grateful but couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread and exhilaration at the realization that he was a part of Yut-Lung’s world.   
  
That image of Yut-Lung has been steadily deteriorating. Now, it’s the worst it’s ever been.    
  
When he’d come to greet them, Yut-Lung had been dressed up in a suit and tie—that had been two nights ago. He’d changed out of that ensemble sometime later, into what Sing would call pajamas but what Yut-Lung would call loungewear. In any case, he hasn’t seen Yut-Lung in anything else since. Sing never realized how much he’d come to expect Yut-Lung to present himself as fresh and beautiful until such words stopped becoming applicable.   
  
This morning he hears Blanca and Yut-Lung argue—maybe about Ash, maybe about their old deal—and he sneaks over to his room after Blanca has left, and then he’s summoned inside to find Yut-Lung collapsed in on himself, mumbling incomprehensible nonsense under his breath and it’s hard to remember or be afraid of how much power he has. Heir to the Lee clan, trained assassin, none of it computes when Sing stumbles upon this shadow of a boy.   
  
Yut-Lung asks him to come closer and he does and he gives Sing directions on how to braid his hair in that calm voice of his, but he sounds so small now, not commanding at all. Sing slowly gets the hang of the action. He sits above Yut-Lung, who lays down with his hair splayed out in three sections over Sing’s lap. He’s clumsy and slow with his hands. He works in silence, occasionally yanking Yut-Lung’s hair on purpose just to see some sort of reaction, but the other boy barely even winces.   
  
“My mother used to do my hair when I was little,” Yut-Lung finally provides. Sing can’t help but scoff. It’s such an off-hand, casual comment. Sing doesn’t care about Yut-Lung’s mother. He speaks to him as if he’s a friend.   
  
“I’m not your mom,” Sing says.   
  
“Clearly not. A three strand braid would never take her this long.”   
  
“I don’t have to do this,” Sing points out.    
  
“So why are you?” he asks in a vaguely bored tone.   
  
Sing shrugs as he continues to braid Yut-Lung’s long hair before he realizes he can’t really see him do so. “Your hair keeps getting all knotty.” He brushes through what he hasn’t braided yet, his fingers snagging on tangles, tugging until they come free.   
  
“That feels nice,” Yut-Lung murmurs.   
  
“So, what’s going on with Blanca?” Sing asks, eliciting a sigh of discontent from the other. “It sounded intense.”   
  
“Why would I talk about it with you?”   
  
“You owe me.”   
  
“Me? Owe you?” Yut-Lung chuckles. “I don’t think that’s how it works. Sing, keep going,” he adds nonchalantly.    
  
“You don’t have to tell me about Lao, but you owe me for it,” he explains in a low voice.   
  
“You already seem to have your own ideas about my involvement with your brother’s death,” Yut-Lung says. “You’ve made up your mind. Don’t you hate me, then?”   
  
“I don’t know what I think about you,” Sing snaps. Even he is taken aback by how aggressive his words come out. He looks down at Yut-Lung, expecting to see him glaring up at him, but instead his gaze continues to focus on the ceiling above, unshaken by the outburst.   
  
“You should hate me. I’d understand.”   
  
“Tell me about Blanca,” he says in an attempt to steer the subject away from whatever strange territory it’s heading into.    
  
“I wanted to hire him and he said no.”   
  
“Did you run out of money or something hiring him the first time?” Sing scoffs. “You have a billion guards already. Blanca sounds like a waste of money. But what do I know, right?”    
  
Yut-Lung avoids the bait completely and instead explains further. “I didn’t want to hire him as a bodyguard. I wanted to hire him as an assassin.”   
  
“I thought you always had me around to do your dirty work.”   
  
“He’s a professional. You are not,” Yut-Lung simply provides. Sing recognizes this to not be a jab at him, but he still feels offended. If Yut-Lung is so bothered by Sing doing things in his own (admittedly unpolished) way, then he shouldn’t have ever continued to keep in contact with him in the first place. “You’d just drag everything back to me, and then where would we be?”   
  
“Sure, whatever. Who do you even want dead?”   
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Yut-Lung mumbles. Sing finally finishes the braid, but there’s no elastic or ribbon to secure it. He’s able to recognize he’s done a fairly shitty job—loose strands of hair he missed initially make the whole thing look messy. He knows why Yut-Lung didn’t simply do this himself—he wanted Sing’s company—but he doesn’t understand why he can’t assassinate someone on his own. Sing doesn’t know a lot about Yut-Lung, but he does know he’s a trained assassin. Shouldn’t it be easy to mix up some poison and call it a day?   
  
Sing is again struck with the realization over how weak Yut-Lung looks. He could kill him here and now—Yut-Lung has his eyes closed and his head tilted back, exposing his neck, pale and thin, it would be so easy to snap it in two, or squeeze the air and the life straight out of him. He wouldn’t be able to fight back.    
  
The thought leaves Sing feeling rather morbid, and he averts his gaze, choosing to admire a wall in front of him.    
  
“I’m thinking about going back to Hong Kong,” Yut-Lung says. “But I have unfinished business here.”   
  
“Murder?”   
  
“Murder is an ugly word, but yes,” he sniffs. “My mother never received a proper burial. I want to go back and see if I can fix that.”   
  
“Didn’t know your mom’s dead.”   
  
“You don’t know very much about me, Sing,” Yut-Lung says. “When I go to Hong Kong, after I’m finished here, I won’t be coming back.”   
  
“I don’t care.”   
  
“I never thought you did.” It might be Sing’s imagination, but he almost sounds… sad. “I just needed somebody to know. It’s not like you’d understand. I’ve been alone for most of my life, Sing. I’m used to it.”   
  
“Are you trying to make me feel guilty or some shit? Trying to pull on my heart strings?” he scoffs.   
  
Yut-Lung opens his eyes and smiles. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”   
  
Then, a phone jingle fills the air. Sing tries to ignore the vibrations against his thigh as the high pitched tune wiggles its way into the silence.   
  
“Take it,” Yut-Lung says as Sing’s phone starts it’s second round of cheery song.   
  
“Are you sure—” Sing begins to ask but then he remembers he doesn’t need any sort of approval from Yut-Lung. He sighs and retrieves his phone out of his pocket as he crawls off of the bed, clicking the answer prompt when he reaches the door. He can feel Yut-Lung’s eyes on him as he leaves. Maybe when he returns to Hong Kong he’ll flourish, continue the Lee business from there. It’s hard to imagine, though.   
  
“Hello?” Sing finally asks the phone held up to his ear as he wanders back down the hall.   
  
“Sing! Hello,” a familiar voice returns the greeting.   
  
“Eiji, what’s up?” he asks. “You didn’t tell me you were going to call.”   
  
“Sorry, are you busy?”   
  
“Nah,” Sing tells him. “You’re good.”   
  
“Okay, well, I have a favor to ask,” Eiji says.   
  
A favor? Sing stops in his tracks, puzzling over what Eiji could possibly request from him. “Is it about Ash?” he asks after a pause. He figures Max and Jessica know full well about Ash’s escape from the hospital, and probably have passed the news along to Eiji. If not, well, Sing can play dumb and entertain a message if Eiji wants to send one along. After all, he still has contact with Ash… Just not through the hospital.   
  
“Well, yes. Is there any way we can meet for lunch?”   
  
With that, Sing learns about Eiji’s haphazardly organized trip to New York and the chaos that has greeted him here. Over the phone, Sing does not mention his exact role in all of it—he agrees to lunch to make up for it.   
  
Eiji sent an address over to Sing and he was able to find the place with little effort. He arrives at a small cafe, tucked away and low-key. The interior is filled to the brim with paintings and photographs that Sing thinks look pretty cool on their own but otherwise feel a bit cluttered.   
  
He’s waved over to a table occupied by Eiji and a girl around his age. Over the phone Eiji had mentioned bringing his sister along but it’s still strange to see her in the flesh.   
  
Sing sits across from the two. It’s been a while since he’s seen Eiji but he’s still shocked by the change in him. He looks a lot better than when he was first shot—Sing can’t even think too long on that day, giving too much thought to Eiji’s pain and Ash’s blind rage makes him uncomfortable, so he avoids it. But still, it’s clear Eiji isn’t back to peak health—he looks thinner, probably lost some muscle from the inactivity due to his injury. Sing wonders if he’s eating alright, especially with worrying over Ash. Eiji did mention lunch but he’s only sipping on a cup of tea.   
  
“Keiko, this is Sing,” Eiji says to his sister.   
  
She smiles. “Hello, Sing. It is nice to meet you!” Keiko looks a lot like Eiji—they have the same round cheeks, same lips, same dark, expressive eyes. Sing can definitely see how they’re related. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he's always found Eiji rather beautiful, and Keiko carries a similar beauty. Especially with that smile. It seems to him like the Okumuras have some good genes.   
  
“You too,” he replies.   
  
“I hope it’s okay I brought her along. We are supposed to be doing “touristy things” right now,” Eiji says, making air quotes with his fingers.    
  
“He is acting like he is stuck with me,” Keiko grumbles, shooting her brother an unimpressed glare.   
  
“But I am,” Eiji says.   
  
“It’s fine,” Sing interrupts. “I’m glad I got to meet you. Eiji always made you sound real cool,” he adds to Keiko.   
  
She grins. “Learn manners from Sing,” she tells Eiji.   
  
“He’s just being nice!” Eiji says, sipping from his tea. “Do you want to get anything?” he then asks.   
  
Sing shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. I’m just interested in talking.”   
  
“Right,” Eiji nods. “Thank you for coming. Really. I missed seeing your face.”   
  
Sing blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, c’mon Eiji. What’re you buttering me up for?”   
  
“It’s true!” he beams. “It feels like it’s been forever.”   
  
“It’s only been a few weeks,” Sing says. And then all the time when Eiji was in the hospital, he realizes. That was the worst, knowing Eiji was fighting for his life and being unable to do anything about it. Everyone had been so worried for him but the mere mention of Eiji would set Ash off so they’d all worried in silence. “It’s just nice to see you out of a wheelchair.”   
  
“Eiji was in a wheelchair,” Keiko provides. “At the plane. He is weak still.”   
  
“Keiko…” Eiji warns, clearly not a fan of the attention drawn to his health.   
  
“You know about Ash, right?” Sing interrupts.    
  
Eiji’s expression grows solemn. “Yes. I was told he isn’t at the hospital anymore. It’s true?” Sing nods an affirmative and Eiji sighs, clearly expecting that answer. “He can be very… Difficult,” Eiji says, looking at his tea.   
  
“Yeah. Just like him to break out of a hospital.”   
  
Eiji’s eyes snap up, gaze so eager that Sing can’t help but feel like he’s made a mistake. “So you think he broke out too?”   
  
He clears his throat and gives a half-hearted shrug. No way Eiji can know where Ash is. Sing can already imagine the fallout from that—Eiji marching right up to the Lee estate and getting his ass handed to him by Yut-Lung because of course he hates  _ Eiji  _ the most out of all people. And then in turn Sing would get  _ his  _ ass handed to him by Ash. “Uh, yeah,” he says lamely.   
  
“Have you talked to him at all?” Eiji presses.   
  
“Um…” Sing looks back up and meets Eiji’s gaze again.  _ God  _ it’s intense. He’s never been very intimidated by Eiji but well, right now the circumstances are lining up and making him feel very small. And very guilty.   
  
“You have?” he asks.   
  
“Eiji,” Keiko warns, gaze flickering between her brother and Sing. “You make Sing uncomfortable.”   
  
“He’s not uncomfortable,” Eiji argues. Then his eyes narrow. “Are you? Is everything alright, Sing?”   
  
“Yes!” he says quickly.    
  
“You’re lying,” Eiji says flatly. “You look nervous.”   
  
“Because you are screaming at him!” Keiko grumbles.   
  
“I’m not…!” Eiji huffs. “Sing, I’m sorry. That wasn’t right of me. I don’t know why I said that. It’s just… Been a long couple of days. I came here to see Ash,” he explains. “It’s just stressful when he isn’t where he’s supposed to be. You know how it is.”   
  
Sing nods, lips pressed together. Now, Eiji looks rather mournful. It’s hard for him to look at his downcast expression. Stupid Ash, he thinks. And stupid Eiji with his stupid puppy dog eyes.   
  
“I don’t know. Maybe Alex will know something,” Eiji says with renewed vigor. “He has to, right? Ash wouldn’t just leave without a word to anyone or without any plans. He’s too smart for that.” He nods to himself, and Sing can practically see some sort of plan forming in his brain.    
  
“Fine!” Sing sighs. Eiji and Keiko both look at him, confused. “I know where Ash is.”   
  
“Sing!” Eiji exclaims. “Why didn’t you tell me? Does he not want to see me? Is something wrong?” he rambles. “Please just tell me the truth.” The word  _ truth  _ hangs on his tongue, and Sing looks down at the table, guilt swirling in the pit of his stomach.   
  
“You have to promise me you won’t go after him,” Sing says. He thinks back to the night he and Blanca brought Ash to Yut-Lung’s. Blanca had said to Ash what Sing says to Eiji now: “You’re not going to like it.”   
  
“I promise,” Eiji says.   
  
“He’s with Yut-Lung.”   
  
“Why would he…!” Eiji’s eyes widen. “Yut-Lung has kidnapped him?”   
  
“Who is Yut-Lung?” Keiko asks with a confused frown. “Why is Ash kidnapped?”   
  
“He’s not,” Sing says. “He’s totally fine. I’ve seen him. Don’t worry.”   
  
“How can I not worry?!” Eiji says. “Yut-Lung hates him! Why would he willingly go there?!”   
  
Sing chooses not to mention the part about Ash  _ not  _ willingly running off to temporarily live with Yut-Lung. He doesn’t feel like risking giving Eiji a heart attack from the stress of that. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, at least when it comes to smuggling Ash around. “He needed somewhere to lay low! Blanca is trying to figure out somewhere else for him to go. It’s fine, Eiji, I promise, I’ve been there making sure—”   
  
“Blanca?” Eiji asks. “Blanca is there?”   
  
“Well, yeah…”   
  
“Who is Yut-Lung?” Keiko asks again. “Who is Blanca?”   
  
“Not now,” Eiji says to her, putting his face in his hands. “This is ridiculous,” he says, muffled.    
  
“Don’t do anything stupid Eiji. Please.”   
  
“Why can’t I? Ash did the stupid thing first,” he points out. He takes his head out of his face and glares at Sing. “And you! You did a stupid thing by not telling me when I asked in the first place! Why should I take advice from you?”   
  
“Eiji…” Sing starts, but it’s like trying to talk to a brick wall.   
  
“You need to take me to him! I need to make sure he’s okay with my own eyes!” Eiji demands.    
  
“I can’t…” Sing trails off. Ash really does love to make everything difficult. If he just had a damn phone he could’ve called Eiji and sorted this all away himself and Sing would have had no part in whatever squabble they’d go through. “Look, I’ll tell him you’re in New York and I’ll tell him he needs to talk to you.”   
  
Eiji considers this with a pensive look on his face.    
  
“Sing, you are kind. I am sorry about my brother’s temper tantrum,” Keiko says.   
  
“Temper tantrum?” Eiji repeats, side-eyeing her.   
  
“Yes. Jessica says it about Michael. “He has a temper tantrum,”” she explains proudly.   
  
“That’s not…” Eiji shakes his head. “Okay. Sing, I would really appreciate it if you could talk to Ash. I’m sorry I got angry.”   
  
“Temper tantrum,” Keiko repeats.   
  
“I am sorry I had a temper tantrum,” he amends, grumbling.   
  
Sing shrugs in response. He’s had a lot worse from Ash over Eiji’s safety. It’s like neither realize the other can fend for himself. It’s frustrating to be subjected to. “So I’ll tell Ash you’re in New York and you want to talk to him. Sound good?”   
  
Eiji gives a short nod. He still looks worried, but he seems relieved to finally have some coordinates on Ash. “Thank you,” he says sheepishly.   
  
“Just don’t make me your middle man,” Sing says. “It seems stressful. You can both be a little...”   
  
“A little what?”    
  
“...Nevermind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the quality of this chapter this week has been pretty awful for quite a few reasons :/   
> in other news... we are only 5 true chapters left from the end (ch14 is an epilogue)... wowzers :)


	9. Stalemate

Ash wakes up to someone bursting into his room.    
  
When the door flings open, he immediately jumps out of bed—at least, he  _ tries  _ to jump out of bed, but the whole motion is slowed from his still-healing injuries that by the time he’s out of bed he’s at the intruder’s mercy.    
  
At least, he would be if there had been an intruder in the first place. Instead of some captor or thief, Sing stares wide-eyed at Ash. “...Were you expecting somebody else?” he asks.   
  
Ash blinks, feeling the tension and adrenaline drain from his body. “No, I just thought…” Ash trails off lamely. Seriously, what is with him? No one besides Blanca has disturbed him since the first night he arrived here. He’d been trying so hard to be a perfect guest while leaning on Blanca to figure out somewhere he could go that the moment something might go south, the restless energy he’d gained laying in bed was ready to break free.   
  
“It looks like you’re doing better,” Sing points out, trying to be helpful. “I mean, you could barely do anything, and now look at you.”   
  
“Getting out of bed all on my own. A real accomplishment,” Ash says dryly.   
  
“Come on, you know what I mean…!” Sing huffs. “What are we even talking about this for? Nevermind. Ash, Eiji is here.”   
  
An expression of genuine bafflement overcomes his face. “Huh?” he manages to say, brows furrowing. Eiji, here? Isn’t that impossible? The day Ash got stabbed he went back to Japan. All things considered, that wasn’t so long ago. Could he actually, really be…?   
  
“Eiji is  _ here! _ ” Sing repeats, enunciating as if Ash had been unable to properly hear him the first time. “I just had lunch with him. He fuckin’ flew out here to see you, Ash.”   
  
Ash sits back on the bed, his head spinning. Part of him is elated—on one hand, knowing Eiji was in Japan was comforting because it meant Eiji was out of trouble, but the distance was draining on him all the same. Eiji has always been a source of comfort, if not strength, for him, and being so far apart for the first time since they’d met had been driving him a little bit crazy. Clearly, Eiji felt the same way if he’d hopped on a plane for his sake, as Sing had said.   
  
But even so, New York isn’t safe for Eiji. Even with banana fish settled, Ash can’t help but still be worried, especially as he remembers, with a shudder, the last time they’d been face to face. It was at the hospital, the very same one that Ash had been treated at, in the dead of night, and Ash had witnessed Eiji so weak and so pained that it had left him speechless. Eiji had screamed at him to go, and it took all his strength to turn his back on him. He’d thought he was going to die, that the universe had finally caught up to him and decided to strike down yet another person he held dear.   
  
There is no way Ash can go through that again without breaking. The thought makes his chest feel constricted, making it hard for him to breathe. Is this how Eiji felt when they’d spoken over Facetime on Max’s phone? At the time, he’d noticed Eiji seemed off, but he’d chalked it up to stress and hadn’t thought that much about it. He wonders how bad he must have looked—Eiji had practically winced when Ash had first picked up the phone.   
  
“Eiji…” Ash sighs, shaking his head. “Something’s wrong with him.” Of course he’d come here. Sometimes—honestly, a lot of the time—Ash underestimates just how headstrong Eiji can be. If he cares to give any self-reflection, Ash could admit he’s not so different in that sense, but this concerns Eiji, not him. “I don’t know what I even expected. I should’ve told him to stay put,” he laments.    
  
“He wouldn’t have listened,” Sing points out.   
  
“Of course he wouldn’t,” Ash agrees, and he can’t help but smile despite the anxiety he’s feeling. He’s missed Eiji so much.   
  
Sing scoffs at this and crosses his arms. “I can’t believe you didn’t even try to call him.” He whips out his own phone and taps the screen before tossing it at Ash, who clumsily catches it with two hands. “I’m not going to be your messenger. Get it together, dude.”   
  
With that, Sing walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Ash looks back down to the phone in his hands—an older model with a cracked screen bearing Eiji’s name on it. He puts it against his ear and is greeted by a dialing tone.   
  
“Sing? What’s wrong?” Eiji’s voice comes.   
  
“Not Sing. Hey,” Ash greets him, voice small.   
  
“Ash! What the fuck!”    
  
Ash recoils at the volume of Eiji’s voice, practically yelling into the phone. “Since when did you start cursing?”   
  
“Since you started going missing and making me sick!” Eiji shoots back. Oh, how glad Ash is that this isn’t a video call. He can very well see Eiji’s angry expression in his mind’s eye, and of course it’s a terrible thing how upset he is, but also seeing his face get all scrunched up like that is a little cute.    
  
Not the point.   
  
“Worried sick!” Eiji adds. “I am worried sick. I came here and I expected to go see you at the hospital and then I’m told you’re  _ not there?  _ Ash, do you know what I thought?” His voice begins to wobble now, like he might start crying if he’s not careful. “I thought you got kidnapped, or that someone killed you and that I’d be lucky to even see your body.”   
  
“Hey, I’m fine…” Ash points out.   
  
“I know that now!” he says with an exasperated sigh. “And then I go to lunch with my sister and Sing today and Sing tells me you’re with Yut-Lung.”   
  
“You’re here with your sister?”   
  
“ _ Ash! _ Not the point! I’m scared for you,” he says. “You said you want a future with me but then you put yourself in danger.”   
  
That’s what makes Ash’s heart sink. “I meant that. I really did,” he promises.   
  
“I know,” Eiji says. His anger is less apparent now, barely masking the real cause of his outburst—fear. True fear—not something Ash thought someone could ever feel for anyone but themself until he grew close to Eiji and then his life had weighed more heavily than his own. “But you understand how that looks to me?”   
  
“I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t have a choice,” Ash tells him. He thinks back to that night where Blanca had visited him in the hospital, wonders if he made the right choice in trusting him. Eiji is distressed—rightfully so—at how everything has turned out, but Ash had felt cornered. He doesn’t know how to explain this to Eiji, so he won’t attempt to do so.    
  
“Okay,” Eiji sighs. “I trust you. I forgive you. But… Do you understand it’s not just me? Have you thought about Max and Jessica?”   
  
Guilt strikes Ash much harder than he expects. “Of course I have. I think about them all the time,” he says, coming off harsher than intended. “I just have to keep my distance for now.”   
  
“You couldn’t have let anyone know you were okay?” Eiji asks.   
  
“Stop it!” Ash finally snaps. “Stop trying to make me feel like shit! I already feel like shit! I know what I’m doing and trust me, it makes me feel shitty too, and maybe I fucked up, but I couldn’t have them coming here looking for me.”   
  
The long pause on the other end only makes him feel worse. “Ash, I’m not trying to…” Eiji trails off. “I didn’t deserve that. I was just asking you a question.”   
  
“I know. Sorry.”   
  
“Maybe I went too far. I… I heard your voice and then everything just came out. I don’t mean to make you feel guilty, I just felt so badly because you have been in the hospital hurt and now this and maybe I wanted you to feel a little bad too,” Eiji rambles. “I think I’ve done a very good job at being calm when you get into trouble, but this time… I want it to be the last time. So I got upset.”   
  
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Eiji,” Ash says with a sigh.   
  
“But I do, Ash,” he says. “I don’t want you to assume things. I don’t want that for me, either, and I know it’s hard for you to talk sometimes, about the important things, so… I don’t know. I should lead by example, right? For a clear line of communication?”   
  
Ash knows Eiji has a point. Within it all, there is an unspoken message—that they haven’t been clear with one another at all, not for a long time. In the past, Ash has kept Eiji in the dark. Because it was safer for him—at least, that’s only part of it. The other part is what Eiji, always the perceptive one, has mentioned, the part that Ash likes to avoid thinking about because it only reminds him of how weak he can be. He doesn’t like talking. Definitely not about the hard things, not even with Eiji, who seems to use some kind of magic when it comes to letting him open up.    
  
And Eiji has always known about what Ash has tried to hide. He plays more clueless than he really is, all for Ash’s comfort. And Ash has allowed him, simply because it’s easier that way. And yeah, it sort of sucks that Eiji wants to ditch this silent, straightforward agreement between the two of them, but even over the phone Ash can tell it’s something that has been weighing on him. Probably has been for a while, and Ash feels guilty for not being observant enough to see it sooner.   
  
“You’re right,” Ash admits. He lays back onto the bed, the duvet and comfortably soft mattress catching his fall. He wishes Eiji was at least in the room. He finds he’s more choked by thoughts and words when there’s nothing more to focus on than an empty ceiling above him.    
  
“Is it silly to ask you if you want to say anything to me?” Eiji presses, tone gentle. Coaxing.    
  
“I’m mad that you came to New York. I think it’s a really stupid thing to do,” he grumbles.   
  
Eiji laughs. “I knew it. I knew you would say that.”   
  
“No apology for me?”   
  
“I’m very sorry that you’re mad. And it probably is a stupid thing to do. But I had to come.”   
  
“I’m just really stressed out. And I hurt. And I haven’t left this stupid fucking room for like, two days. And I miss you. Is that good enough?”   
  
“Sure,” Eiji agrees. “For the record, I miss you too.”   
  
Ash snorts. “No shit. You flew all the way out here…” Still an incredibly stupid decision. Still very nice to be in the same country again. “You’re safe, right?”   
  
“Yeah. We’re staying with Max and Jessica. They’ve been really nice but we can’t stay for long.” Ash’s heart drops and he doesn’t know why. Obviously, Eiji isn’t here to stay. But it’s such a nice idea… When he ignores his gang, his ties to Golzine, and banana fish, and so much other uninviting business, at least.    
  
“Right.” Wouldn’t it be nice to be normal? Ash used to think about that concept—a normal life where he had a family and a home and school and friends—endlessly when he was younger, but it takes a different form now. Maybe he’d go to college and maybe he’d meet a transfer student called Eiji and maybe they would fall in love over time without the pressures of overarching life and death situations and maybe they would be happy together in a little apartment. And maybe they would have some baggage but it wouldn’t be anything like this.    
  
But that’s not how Ash’s life is. That’s not how his relationship with Eiji is, and that’s not something that will ever change.   
  
“Can I visit?” Eiji then asks, drawing Ash away from his short daydream.    
  
“Visit? Here?” Ash repeats dumbly.   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“Fuck no.” He wants to ask Eiji if he’s stupid but he knows it’s mean and he’d just be rousing another spat between them.    
  
“You owe me that much!” Eiji huffs on the other end of the line.   
  
“Yut-Lung hates you.”   
  
“He hates you too! I don’t like him, and I don’t like the idea of you staying there, and I don’t even want to see him ever again in my life if I can help it… But he’s not… He’s not  _ evil _ .”   
  
“You know what he’s done. Fuck, Eiji, he’s the reason why you got shot. Do I really have to remind you how you almost died?” Ash feels like he’s going crazy. First Blanca and now  _ Eiji _ trying to vouch for Yut-Lung’s merits. Blanca had even said they were similar—the thought makes Ash feel like he might genuinely be sick. He at least thinks that Eiji, Eiji who is so in tune that his judgments of others come with a striking accuracy, can agree with him on this. But apparently not.   
  
Eiji is quiet as he considers this, and Ash knows he’s brought up some bad memories, some really bad memories, but not for no reason. It can’t just be ignored. “I know,” Eiji finally responds. “And I can’t forgive him for what he did to me. And you.”   
  
This surprises Ash. He had thought he was about to get some lecture about forgiving and forgetting or something. But even Eiji has his limits.    
  
“I don’t hate him,” he continues.   
  
“You don’t hate anybody,” Ash sighs.   
  
“You’re wrong about that, Ash. I’m not going to go into it, but I have plenty of people I hate, believe it or not. Yut-Lung is just not one of them.”   
  
“You can’t trust him to play nice,” Ash argues.   
  
“No. But what choice do I have?”   
  
“You have the choice to stay put.”   
  
Eiji breezes past this, as if it’s not even an option. “Maybe if I’m with Sing. Maybe Yut-Lung doesn’t have to know.”   
  
Ash sighs. There really isn’t any way he can change Eiji’s mind, not when he’s already so set on this. “You’re exhausting,” he says.   
  
“I love you,” Eiji adds sweetly.   
  
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Just hang up, I’m not going to help you sneak in here,” Ash grumbles.    
  
“Fine. I’ll see you soon.”   
  
“Bye-bye.” Ash hangs up, bringing the phone away from his face. He feels frustrated at how purposefully obtuse Eiji has chosen to be, but also sort of… exhilarated at the idea of seeing Eiji, even for a short interlude while Ash tries to figure out where to go from here.   
  
First, he needs to cut ties permanently with Golzine and the mafia. Any sort of money he inherited off of Golzine’s death needs to be burned. Figuratively, at least. In reality, he can disperse it between his offshore accounts. He doesn’t want to touch any of it, even if it can’t be traced back to him, but at least it’ll be there for him in emergencies. Like another unplanned trip to the hospital.   
  
Then, he has to get a new identity. Ash already has had plenty of aliases in his lifetime, some made up on the fly and some actually making their way onto fake IDs and other such identifications. Nothing too difficult for him.   
  
And of course, the gang. His boys. Even if he doesn’t end up following Eiji to Japan right away, he knows his time as leader is over. He can’t be tied to them any longer, not while he chases his shot at a peaceful existence. This, he knows he has to settle in person himself, not through Sing or any other mediator. He owes them that much.   
  
And then there’s so much more. Where can he lay low? Blanca says he’s looking into somewhere else, but if Ash has to stay Yut-Lung’s prisoner any longer he thinks he might just go insane. He still needs to get a new gun. And simpler things like, learning how to cook for himself. Living with Eiji made him want to give up on fast food and pre-prepared meals altogether.   
  
As if on cue, Sing comes back into the room. Ash gives him a glance from his bed and hears his footsteps as he draws nearer until the boy is looming over him. He snatches the phone from Ash’s hand and examines it, like somehow Ash might have broken it or otherwise messed it up.   
  
Ash sits up and pats next to him on the bed, inviting Sing to sit. Sing pockets his phone and obeys, giving Ash an expectant look, rather unenthusiastic as well.   
  
“So, everything’s good now? Eiji isn’t going to come breaking down my door asking about you?” Sing prompts.   
  
“He probably won’t,” Ash agrees.   
  
“Probably? God.”   
  
“I need another favor from you,” he adds.   
  
Sing rolls his eyes. “There it is. What do you want, Lynx?”   
  
“Clothes and a phone. I’ve got a bag back at the hideout we were using. Don’t know if it’s there or not, but I can’t really check myself, can I?”   
  
“Fine.”   
  
“You can keep any cash in there too,” Ash adds to lessen the burden, which makes Sing perk up slightly. “And if Eiji calls asking about coming here, just tell him no and hang up.”   
  
“That’s sort of harsh, isn’t it?” Sing points out.   
  
“If you give him the chance…” Ash trails off. Sing in particular seems very easy to wear down into submission, especially considering he can sort of tell the kid has a bit of a soft spot for Eiji. Damn him for being so effortlessly endearing.   
  
“Yeah…” Sing agrees. “I don’t know, maybe it would be best if he sees you, then he could just go back home, right?” Ash’s sour expression seems to mark this suggestion as wrong so he attempts to sidestep. “But you don’t want him to come here and I totally get that and I totally respect it.”   
  
“There you are,” Ash says. “Thanks, Sing.”   
  
“If you want to thank me, stop making me your errand boy.” With that, he gets up, making way for the door before glancing back at Ash. “Pass that on to Eiji, too. I’m not delivering anymore handwritten letters. Or any calls.”   
  
Ash cracks a small smile. “Right. Not a problem. Take care now.”   
  
“I’m serious,” Sing grumbles, turning back around.   
  
“I know,” Ash replies. “You don’t have to worry. If everything goes in my favor, you’ll never see me again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was confusing to write because it ended up being completely different than what i originally had planned lmao. thanks for sticking with me this far though. :,) i also want to write a one shot for ash's birthday so look out for that. unfortunately his b-day is also when classes start for me. >:( 
> 
> i miiight be adding another chapter to this (my outline has gotten sort of convoluted and as im nearing the end im starting to get the feeling like something might be missing) so if you see an uptick in the chapter number um...<3 no you didnt <3


	10. Reunion

“You have to take me to Ash.”   
  
By chance, or (as Eiji sees it) by fate, Sing stands before him. The sidewalk is busy, filled with others who brush past the two with vague discontent. The two are an island and the traffic flows around them. Sing is frozen, looking both shocked and dejected at the sight of the man in front of him. Out of all the people in the city, they’ve found each other again. And by the look of things, Eiji has a sneaking suspicion that this was not supposed to happen.   
  
A man shoulders past Sing and the contact seems to snap him out of his brief trance. His expression hardens, dropping back to a forceful neutral. “No.”   
  
This catches Eiji so off guard that by the time he’s trying to formulate a response he’s realized Sing has walked right past him. Irritated, Eiji turns on his heel and quickly finds himself walking in line with the other boy. Instead of acknowledging Eiji, he continues to walk, looking straight ahead and doing his best to ignore him.   
  
“Sing, please,” he begs. “I’ll be quick. I just need to see him.”   
  
After Eiji and Keiko had met with Sing, he’d left the cafe feeling hopeful, rejuvenated, even. The confirmation that Ash was safe, or as safe as was possible when it came to him, provided much needed relief. The revelation of his whereabouts was unsettling but as he and Keiko made their way back to Max and Jessica’s apartment, he was already trying to figure out a way to get to Ash. In his imagination, he played the hero, sweeping through the Lee estate with his wits and courage alone to rescue Ash.   
  
Reality is a bit more fickle.   
  
The only way Eiji was able to reach him was through Sing, but at least he was able to reach him in the first place. Ash had warned him not to try and visit but the culmination of weeks and weeks’ worth of stress was starting to wear Eiji thin.    
  
He needs this one thing: to see Ash in the flesh. Just a glimpse and maybe he can rest. But if there weren’t any roadblocks, would it really be them?   
  
After getting back to the apartment, Eiji spent some time with his sister, mostly trying his best to explain his conversation with Sing back at the cafe. He doesn’t particularly enjoy hiding the truth, but the less Keiko knows, the better. (This admission feels particularly ironic to him considering his frustrations concerning Ash’s little habit of withholding information.)   
  
He didn’t lie about Yut-Lung, not really. He’s plain in the way he describes his distaste towards Ash—this bout of dramatics distracts Keiko from questioning much else about him. With Blanca, well, to Keiko, he used to teach Ash. Not a lie either, technically.   
  
Then Ash had called him through Sing’s phone and any good mood Eiji had going was quickly dampened. They hadn’t even fought, but even through the phone, the tension was taking its toll. Emotions were running high on both ends. Ash had made it very clear he wasn’t a fan of Eiji coming to see him, and normally Ash’s feelings are something Eiji likes to at least give some thoughtful consideration, but he can’t give in to this one.   
  
Eiji knows he will do anything for Ash. He’s risked his life so often for him and not once did it ever feel unnatural. This is nothing. Yet Ash will always choose to be cautious when it comes to him. So sweet, so annoying.   
  
Dejected, he’d decided to take a walk and even managed to convince Keiko to let him go alone. From an outsider’s perspective, he was the one watching over her—she’s his little sister, it’s her first time in New York, she doesn’t speak English so well, her sense of direction is abysmal, so shouldn’t he take the lead? But, the truth is she can’t take her eyes off of him, can’t let him go one step without trying to follow him in the next. She is afraid he will disappear again back into the fabric of the city. And maybe this time he would not come back alive.   
  
As persistent as she is, Eiji is well versed in distractions. And Keiko would never turn down a meal. Especially when Eiji had been making a point to talk up the palatability of a New York hotdog…   
  
He was supposed to just go and grab hotdogs for himself and Keiko, walk around and let his thoughts wander as he’d take in the city some more, but then Sing had appeared like a flash of light in the darkness. Or like a person passing by a hotdog stand.   
  
Sensing his chance was about to get away, he’d tailed Sing until he caught up with him. And that’s where things stand now.   
  
“After this, I’ll stay out of whatever it is he’s doing,” Eiji adds as he walks with Sing in stride.   
  
“I seriously doubt that,” Sing replies, and despite his scoffing, Eiji is elated to have finally elicited a response.   
  
“Come on!” Eiji huffs as they turn a corner.   
  
Sing then makes the mistake of glancing over at Eiji, so clearly desperate and tired. The lapse in Sing’s tough exterior snaps Eiji to action and he lays on the emotions.   
  
“I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to see him again, Sing. I have to leave America soon and…” He swallows hard for effect, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I can’t have the last time I see him be in the hospital. I didn’t even get a proper goodbye.”   
  
“A proper goodbye…” Sing mumbles. “Nobody really gets that, not unless they’re lucky. Sorry Eiji but I can’t…”   
  
“You can! You can give me a proper goodbye,” Eiji presses, his act of sentimental sorrow evaporating like a puddle in summer. “I’ll owe you. I promise.” Sing again glances over at him and receives a face full of sweet longing and pleading.   
  
He glances away uncomfortably from Eiji’s intense stare, shouldering his backpack and then speaking once again. “You said you’d make it quick?”   
  
Eiji’s heart soars. “Yes! Very quick!”   
  
“Okay,” he replies warily. “Let’s see what we can do.”   
  
Eiji sends Keiko a text that the hotdogs will be a little late.

  
* * *

  
What Eiji thought would happen at the Lee estate is something straight out of a spy movie. Taking down security cameras, dodging lasers, stealthily sneaking about.    
  
What really happens is that the moment Sing and Eiji step foot onto the property, they are detained.   
  
They are marched in silence back through the building. Eiji looks over at Sing, who is trying very hard to ignore him. He knows getting angry with Sing won’t do any good—clearly any place Yut-Lung spends a lot of time at is heavily guarded—but still he’s frustrated. He was under the impression Sing’s abilities were good enough to allow them to dodge security and roam unbothered. A part of him suspects that he just decided that he wasn’t worth the trouble of a small scale break in.   
  
In all truth, none of this is worth the trouble of being thrown back into danger. Though Eiji feels cautiously optimistic nothing bad will happen with Sing to back him up, he can’t rightfully deny how stupid this all is. He can almost hear Ash singing how he told him so.    
  
But even as they enter what appears to be more akin to a sitting area than an interrogation room, Eiji can’t bring himself to feel regretful. Someone else might see this as a failure and take their losses, but not him. He’s come this far and he may as well see it through, even if common sense disagrees.   
  
Eiji and Sing are directed to take their seats on one of two couches, this being the one closest to the entryway, which is now being blocked by one of the burly men that came for them. Eiji sits next to Sing, the couch being stiff and uncomfortable and scratchy where his skin touches the upholstery. Opposite of them is a quaint coffee table, glass that is so clear it might as well be brand new, and then the same couch they sit on now. Eiji wonders if the set up was a two-for-one sort of deal. It’s pretty ugly, something you might find on clearance, but probably costs more money than he has ever seen in his life.   
  
The silence in the room is awkward and tense. A grandfather clock in the corner is incessant with its ticking. Eiji watches the arms move for what feels like ages but is only a few minutes, until the minute hand points upwards and the clock chimes in the hour.   
  
Shortly after the clock quiets and resumes its usual ticking, Yut-Lung enters the room. Immediately his gaze finds Eiji, intense and loathing. Eiji sits up taller, watching the other as he strolls around the room, circling like a vulture that has found its next meal.   
  
“Excuse me.”   
  
He looks back to see a man pushing past the guard at the entrance, giving an apologetic smile. In a way so calm and natural Eiji can barely detect it, the guard draws a gun and points. Yut-Lung annoyedly waves it off and shakes his head.   
  
“It’s alright. Come on in Blanca. The more the merrier,” Yut-Lung says, seeming more annoyed than indifferent. He takes a seat on the couch opposite of Eiji and Sing, examining them once more with a critical eye.    
  
“Just here to make sure you don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Blanca explains. “It’s nice to see you again. Sing. Eiji.” On his name, the older man’s eyes seem to gleam, and Eiji can’t shake the discomfort that blankets him in this brief interaction. He unwittingly glances down at his shoulder, pierced by one of the sniper’s expertly aimed bullets.   
  
“Oh, sorry about that,” Blanca says lightly. Eiji winces.    
  
“Leave him be,” Sing cautions, though he doesn’t just address Blanca; in fact, he seems to be more keen on staring Yut-Lung down as he growls this warning. Blanca shrugs in response. Instead of joining Yut-Lung on the couch opposite the coffee table, he chooses to reside in the corner of the room.   
  
“Oh, quiet. You’re the one that let in the vermin,” Yut-Lung sniffs.   
  
“He’s not—!”    
  
“Sing, it’s okay,” Eiji says, glancing over at Sing and shaking his head slightly. Sing huffs, looking irritated though he swallows his words. Eiji can’t blame him. He feels a similar distaste.   
  
“So, what is it?” Yut-Lung asks. He sits back, crossing his legs as he does so. “Ash?”   
  
“Yes,” Eiji says. “I wanted to see him.”   
  
“Aw, that’s all? Why didn’t you say so?” he purrs. “Of course you’re here to see your friend. You’re stupid enough to come running at his beck and call.”   
  
Eiji recognizes Yut-Lung is trying to provoke him, but it doesn’t make him any less annoyed. Unlike with Blanca, he isn’t afraid of Yut-Lung. When he thinks of him, he mostly feels anger—not even towards Yut-Lung, but towards himself.    
  
Before him is the person that reflects back at him his weakness—his mercy. He remembers wanting to shoot Yut-Lung. He was going to.    
  
But then something shifted. A change in the air. Strip away the layers and Yut-Lung was a vast nothingness and all Eiji could feel was his hurt. He had wanted to die and Eiji could not bring himself to give in to that request, even though there was so much to gain.   
  
He remembers this emptiness. He can see it in his eyes. The difference between Yut-Lung and everyone else in the world is that he stands for nothing at all. It’s unnerving. Pitiable.   
  
“I mean, I’m impressed. You’ve got him whipped too. What person in their right mind would give up so much for so… little?” Yut-Lung asks, eyes sweeping over Eiji. “Nothing. You are absolutely nothing. Helpless like a lost puppy except you’re not even that cute. It’s none of my business Ash fantasizes about, but really? You? Protecting you? Saving you? It’s so stupid.”   
  
“Don’t listen to him,” Sing tells Eiji.   
  
“Oh, sure. Don’t listen to me. You don’t have to. It doesn’t matter. At least I’m not disillusioned enough to believe you can ever be friends with a hungry lion. All he wants is stability. And you, my friend, are as boring and stable as they come. But he will get bored, and he will hurt you, and then you’ll be naive enough to be surprised.”   
  
He tries to swallow the anger that rises up in his throat, coupled with fear. Because he wonders if they are just too different, and he’s afraid that whatever adjustment period they will go through after all this will end in their worlds untangling.   
  
“Go home, Eiji!” Yut-Lung says. “Do Ash a favor. Leave and never come back.”   
  
Eiji is trying to leap across the coffee table one moment and is being held back by Sing the next. He gives one feeble blow towards Yut-Lung, missing by a mile, and Sing’s grip on him tightens and he’s jerked back. His gunshot wound feels like it’s on fire but it falls into the background as Yut-Lung simply stares back at him, looking faintly amused.   
  
“You don’t know me and you don’t know Ash,” Eiji hisses.   
  
“I know enough. Let him go, Sing, I want to see him try and hit me. It’s sort of cute. Like watching a kid play tee ball,” Yut-Lung smirks.   
  
“Enough,” Blanca’s voice comes booming. All three are surprised—he’d done well to keep quiet and unobtrusive, keeping a watchful eye on the scene. “This is just sad to watch. Sing, take Eiji to Ash.”   
  
Yut-Lung jumps up. “No, don’t, I’m not done.”   
  
“You’re just jealous,” Sing says under his breath.   
  
“What?”   
  
“He said you’re jealous,” Blanca says. Yut-Lung crosses his arms and looks away. “I think I’ll agree with that observation. You’re only torturing him because he has something you don’t. Something you will never have,” he adds.   
  
“Shut up!” Yut-Lung explodes, whipping around to face Blanca. “Go, Sing,” he says without looking at them. “Both of you, just get the fuck out.”   
  
Eiji unravels himself from Sing’s grip, which has loosened to nothing with the turn of energy in the room. The two of them stand still, watching what Yut-Lung might do next.   
  
“Leave!” he barks, rousing them from their brief trance. Sing and Eiji retreat out of the room, and even as they get farther and farther away, there is no shrieking, no fighting, nothing but the same uncomfortable silence.   
  
Eiji follows Sing without a word. What is there to say? He could apologize for lunging at Yut-Lung, but that would require being sorry, which he is not. He could mention how erratic Yut-Lung had become, but that would just be stating the obvious. So they walk in silence.   
  
“This is Ash’s room,” Sing finally says when they get to a door. In spite of the strange discomfort he feels in his gut after the encounter with Yut-Lung and Blanca, he feels his heart leap with excitement. Behind this door is Ash. Finally, Ash.   
  
Sing fidgets with a key, using it to unlock the door. Of course Ash is locked in. Eiji feels horrible for leaving him like this, even though there was no possible way he could have come any sooner.   
  
He knocks on the door and announces, “Special delivery,” before tossing the backpack he’d been carrying around into the room and shoving Eiji in along with it.   
  
Ash stands when he sees Eiji, his eyes widening in disbelief. “You… You  _ didn’t _ …”   
  
Eiji rushes to him and envelopes him in a hug and the sensation of tears welling in his eyes is almost instantaneous. In his arms is Ash Lynx, alive and real before him. He feels arms wrap around him as well, hands pressed flat on his back as he melts into Ash. He rests his forehead on his shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as tears roll down his cheeks, meeting the corners of his lips brought up into a smile.   
  
Eiji is unsure how long they stand like this, but eventually they part, and Ash’s face in front of him looks so delirious with joy that it makes him ache. “It’s you,” Ash whispers, bringing his hands up to cup Eiji’s face and he’s brought into a kiss, so sweet, nothing like the first time because now no one is acting.   
  
Eiji pulls away and wipes the tears from his face with his hands. “You’re okay,” he says, relief plain in his voice.   
  
“I told you I was fine,” Ash chides. “I also think I told you not to come here.”   
  
“I know,” he says.   
  
“And yet here you are.”   
  
“And here I am,” he agrees. “Ash. You can’t stay here.”   
  
He nods. “I know. I’ll let you know where I am but I’m thinking about leaving by the end of the week. I sort of hate being trapped here,” Ash provides.   
  
“No, I mean…” Eiji pauses, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “Come back home with me. Come to Japan with me.”   
  
Ash’s eyes widen. “Eiji, that’s…”   
  
“It doesn’t have to be a permanent thing,” he adds quickly. Though I’d like it to be, he thinks to himself. “You can’t… I don’t know how you can keep living like this,” he says, glancing around at the room. “I don’t want you to die here.”   
  
Ash nods soberly. “I’m sorry Eiji. I’m sorry you have to worry about me.”   
  
“It’s okay. You worrying about me balances it out,” he says with a small smile, heart pounding in his chest. Why isn’t he saying yes? Or no for that matter?   
  
Then, Sing clears his throat. Eiji glances back at him and then back to Ash. “Go,” he says. “I’ll text you when I’m out of here. Make an itinerary for Japan while you wait, alright?”   
  
Eiji gives him a short nod, smiling ear to ear. “Please stay safe,” he adds.   
  
“Won’t do if I turn up dead before I even see the plane,” Ash agrees. He runs his fingers through Eiji’s hair before resting his arms loosely around his neck, kissing him gently. “I swear I’ll be fine. I’ll see you soon.”   
  
He nods, pulling away out of Ash’s grasp as he feels he’s tearing up again. “Soon,” he promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a day late
> 
> i cant remember if the scene where yut-lung tells eiji to kill himself is in the anime but like. bro


End file.
